


What, Like It's Hard?

by GoldStarGrl



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: AU Law School, F/M, Learning Disabilities, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Murder Trial, mentions of csa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: Charlie Kelly is a 25-year-old community college student eeking his way to an associates' degree in waste management when the love of his life, a nearby coffee shop waitress, gets into Penn Law. Determined not to lose her, and nursing a long-held dream to practice bird law, he does what any logical stalker would do - and gets in there too.(A Legally Blonde AU without shame.)





	1. Chapter 1

“Okay, hey, everyone. I’m Charlie. I mean, Charles. Charles Kelly. Esquire. I’m from South Philly, right over the river. I enjoy looking for goblins, ghouls, rats of the standard variety, as well as those that might be able to communicate, and I’m thinking about getting a concentration in bird law.”

The rest of the circle, sprawled out on the grass, just looked at him. A few blinked. The woman with pinned up dark hair was the first to move, clicking her tongue and glancing down at her clipboard. “Okay. Thank you, Charlie. Just a reminder to everyone that Penn Law has a strict no-drugs policy on campus.”

A few of the other people in the circle tittered, though Charlie wasn’t sure why. The girl next to him, Enid something, started talking, not even waiting to be called on, and he let his attention wander. Penn had rolling lawns with grass so green he wondered if the maintenance crew had to spray paint it to get it like that. A pang ran through his stomach when he thought about the janitors, about his AA in waste management lying unused on the floor of his apartment.

No, no. This wasn’t a mistake. This was for love.

“Hey.” He turned back to the circle, cutting off a boy talking about his fancy degree from Ul-Ca or whatever weird letters he was chanting. “Does anyone know where I can get to the Furness Library?”

Clipboard Woman pursed her lips and glanced around the circle before complying with the interruption. “It’s across the quad, then turn right.”

He clapped his hands together scrambled to his feet, throwing his knapsack over one shoulder. “Cool. Well...see ya!” He waved at the rest of the group, who started giggling again.

Charlie knew she would be in Furness, because the orientation schedule another Clipboard Lady - there were dozens of them here - announced all women with last names beginning with L-Z were getting their IDs made there, starting in just a few minutes.

As soon as he found her, she would see how smart he was. She’d be so impressed when he told her how he saved up to take the LSATs, and ten minutes before the test he lit a fire in the hallway trashcan and copied the answer bubbles of the guy sitting next to him in the chaos. She would finally realize how he loved her enough to follow her to Penn, and it would all be worth it.

And then he could go back across the river and get the job with Philly Waste Management Alan promised him, "as soon as you finally get through that degree." They would be together and it would all be okay. If he could learn a little bit more about bird law in the process, hey, all the best. His stomach calmed at the thought, and then lifted. In jean shorts and a gray sweater, a few yards down the hall, he locked in on her back, her graceful neck, chatting with a cluster of other girls. He could recognize her from every angle.

“Hey!” He called down the hall. When she didn’t answer, he jogged closer and tapped her shoulder. The fabric of the shirt was warm from the sun.

She turned around, her blonde hair trailing behind her in a beautiful yellow wave. When she saw him, her eyes flared and grew. The cute pink flush in her cheeks disappeared. “Charlie?”

He grinned. “Oh! Hey! I totally forgot you go here!”


	2. Chapter 2

"How cool is it we're going to school together?" He said. "It'll be just like back in South Philly, only with more books and trees and shit!"

The Waitress kept blinking, faster and faster, and backed into the wall. "I...how did you get in here? You've been stuck at that community college for like seven years, can you even read? _"_

Charlie rolled his eyes and scoffed, praying the heat in his cheeks wasn't visible. "You with your funny, so funny."

She shook her head, lines forming in between her eyebrows. Her eyes were shiny. "Charlie, this-"

Someone poked Charlie's shoulder. It was the clipboard lady, tracked him down. "I forgot to give this to you." She handed him a bright yellow piece of paper that said F-I-N-A-N-C-I-A-L A-I-D across the top, and told him to bring it with him when he bought his textbooks.

“They’ll sell them to you for a reduced price.” She said. He tried to smile. _Finnel Ad? Add? What was being added?_

“Yeah, sure, cool.” He snatched the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans, but when he turned around, The Waitress had already disappeared. 

Women. An enigma.

* * *

When classes started two days later, Charlie rolled out of bed at eleven and hopped on the bus he knew she also took to the campus, but he didn’t see her. He asked around the campus until a terse young man pointed him to a red brick building and an even bitchier lady looked up his schedule for him.

“Are you aware you’ve already had two classes today?” She asked, with a raised eyebrow.  

Charlie snorted. “C’mon.”

The lady didn’t laugh. “You have Contracts at eight AM and Introduction to Torts at nine-thirty. Had.”

“Who starts school at eight AM, though?” Charlie laughed again. “It’s college, people have hangovers.”

“It’s law school.” She said, pausing to type something. “Your next class is Media and Entertainment Law in ten minutes. I suggest you run.”

“Yes, and could you print me out a copy of the class list?” He pushed onto tiptoe so he could reach over the desk. His knuckles knocked into her cup of pencils. She caught them and moved them closer to the computer monitor.

“I don’t have access to that.”

“Not even if I...grease the pot a little?” He dug into his pocket, pushing the Finnel Ad paper out onto the floor and dropping two quarters and a nickel on the counter. The lady’s expression didn’t change.

“No.”

Ugh, no one was going to make this easy, were they? “Okay.” He gave her a heavy eye roll. “Guess I’ll just ‘go to class’.” 

He was the last person to show up to the lecture hall, and he slid in a side seat in the front row. He turned around in his chair, scanning the room, but he didn’t see her. Shit. He turned back around and saw no one standing by the board or sitting at the desk. Maybe there was still time to sneak out, he could find her class and be waiting when she was done.

“Hey.” He tapped the shoulder of the girl sitting next to him. She had long, blonde hair and was the only other person in the room who didn’t have a laptop open in front of her; just an iPhone, on which she was trying different filters on a selfie. “Where’s the teacher?”

She rolled her eyes. “He wants to make an entrance. He’s an asshole like that.”

“I’m an _innovator_ , Deandra.” A loud, hoarse voice piped up from just a couple feet away. Charlie jumped.

From behind the wide wooden desk, a balding man waddled out, in suit pants and shirtsleeves, but for some reason, no shoes or socks. “And these little twerps need to know the best way to win is to always retain the element of surprise. Hello, children.” He said this last part loudly, to the whole room. Chairs scraped as everyone sat up a little straighter.

“I am Frank Reynolds, the founder and partner at Reynolds & Reynolds, Philadelphia's top firm for settling celebrity divorce, custody, and botched plastic surgery suits. I am _here_ ,” with this he pushed himself up and sat on the edge of his desk with a groan. “Because myself and the state of Pennsylvania have very different ideas about what constitutes ‘drunk driving’ and ‘proportional community service’.”

“Jesus, Frank.” the blonde girl next to Charlie sighed, sliding down in her seat. Frank Reynolds rolled his eyes and pulled his legs up onto the desk. A few soft gasps escaped as he stood on top of the maple wood.

“So we’re gonna learn about getting our clients off - in whatever way they want, ‘cause we also don’t judge - and then at the end of the term the three of you who screw up the least are gonna come work for me.” More gasps, more hushed whispering. Deandra stood up at her desk.

“Goddammit, don’t say that, we might have to pay them.”

“Oh, right, right.” Frank waved a hand. “As interns. You’re gonna come work for me, as interns. For free. Like slaves.” His hand curled into a point. “Don’t worry, your TA barely makes more than that. Dee, say hi. She’ll be grading your tests and all that other boring shit.”

“No, no, we didn’t discuss that.” Dee jerked her head, wide-eyed. Some of her hair hit Charlie in the face. He spit and someone behind him laughed. Frank sat down on top of the desk again.

“Okay, enough. Let’s just get going. You-” He pointed at a sweaty young man at the center of the room. “Tell me what...Jesus, why are you so sweaty? You got the clap?”

“This class is such a joke.” Dee hissed, sitting back down. Charlie shrugged.

“I kind of like him.”

Dee scowled at him, gathering her offending hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. “Easy for you to say, you’re not your father’s bitch for peanuts.”

“Oh, I don’t know who my father is.” Charlie said. “And peanuts are great. That’s kind of a sweet gig, if you think about it.”

Dee stared at him for a long moment. “Fuck off, weirdo.” She sighed, turning back to face the board.


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost seven that night when he saw her again. He caught up because she’s got five or six huge, glossy books stacked in her arms, weighing her down. Charlie sidled in next to her when she stopped next to a coffee cart to readjust her pile.

“Wow, look at you. Bookworm.”

“They’re for class.” She didn’t meet his eye.

“Oh shit, yeah, I should probably get some of those.” She snorted, which made Charlie brighten, encouraged. She had the prettiest laugh. “How are your classes going?”

“Good. Fine.” She moved the books to balance against her hip, like she was carrying a baby. After a pause, she asked, reluctant and flat, “How are yours.”

“Oh, fine. Boring as shit. Except Frank Reynolds’ one, he’s funny.”

Her green eyes flashed. “You’re in Frank Reynolds class? I got boxed out of that.”

“Oh. Well, I could probably talk to him, get him to let you in.”

The Waitress laughed again, but this time he picked up a weird, sharp edge in it. “Yeah. Sure. You do that, Charlie.”

“I will. You know, I-”

“Oh!” She reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She arched her back a little bit, too. Her t-shirt was great, all soft and peach-colored and clingy. Charlie bit down on his lower lip for a second before realizing she looked past him, sticking her tits out in another direction. “Brad! Hi!”

_Brad?_

She pushed past, the metal square on her purse clacking against his shoulder, jogging as fast as she could with all her cargo, towards...some guy. He was tall-taller than Charlie, although he’d be the first to admit that wasn't a huge accomplishment-with soft, neat hair and smooth rosy skin.

And she wanted him.

She leaned into his side, tilting her perfect, pointed chin up towards his face, and he grinned down at her, and his hand rested flat against her lower back, and Charlie’s heart hammered in his ears and his fingers didn’t feel like fingers anymore.

He looked down at the ground, dragging the toe of his beat-up old Chuck Taylor back and forth across the pavement once, twice, three times.

And then he took off, running.

He didn’t even know what direction he ran, back towards the river, towards home, or farther out, farther into the stupid state, towards Jersey, the ocean, the awful, giant expanse full of unknown and tall guys who touched The Waitress-

He needed a drink.

He turned down the first street with shops he stumbled upon, following the buzzing neon signs being turned on, one by one, as night falls on Pennsylvania. A lot of the windows look into clothes stores, already locked up, but a blocky concrete building with a fraying velvet rope in front of the door looked promising. A guy around his age, with slicked back hair and a black t-shirt with white words across the front, was standing by the door, looking bored. Charlie charged across the street, hoping this wasn’t one of those clubs where naked chicks danced on you when you were just trying to get drunk.

The guy threw a hand out in front of the door, and Charlie bumped into it with his chest.

"What the hell?" He huffed, jarred from his numb, spinning world. The guy raised both eyebrows, and he looked so much like a cartoon villain it would have made Charlie laugh under different circumstances.

"I need to see some ID."

"...Seriously?"

"Don't test me, little man." He nodded at Charlie's whole body, like being short was the same thing as being underage. Charlie shoved both hands into his pockets, the frustration of the day boiling over and oh, great, he was shouting.

"I don't _have one_ , the school was supposed to get me one but there was a mix up because there's some girl named Charlotte Kelly in undergrad and they thought it was a duplicate and they haven’t _fixed it yet_!”

The guy stepped back against the wall, clearly not expecting the miniature volcano he triggered on the sidewalk.

“-I just need a fucking drink and what I don't need is some asshole telling me I'm too young to have one-"

"Jesus, calm-"

"-and look, man, I just came here for love, and like, that's a noble pursuit, right? That's an honorable pursuit, and you'd think the universe would help something like that along, right? But _nooo_ -"

A sharp sting bloomed on his shoulder. It took him a second to realize the bouncer had smacked him. He lunged, without thought, and snapped his teeth at the bouncer’s hand. The guy dodged it, though, and wrapped an arm around Charlie’s neck.

“Did you just try to _bite_ me, you psycho?”

Charlie flailed, trying to squirm away, but let himself go limp after a few futile seconds. It worked, and he was released, stumbling on a lip in the pavement. "Ow." He said, too stunned to do anything else.

The bouncer pulled a Zippo lighter out of the pocket of his track pants. "Get out of the doorway."

Charlie obeyed, still weirdly dazed.

The bouncer held out the lighter. "Do you smoke?"

"Sometimes.”

"Yeah. You clearly need to, you goddamn lunatic." He jerked his head to the lip of the building next to him. Charlie sat down. "You don't need any more alcohol, you know that shit stunts your growth."

"Fuck you." Charlie said, but less venom came out this time. "Charlie. Kelly." he said.

"Mac." The bouncer said. He pulled out an unopened pack of methanols, ripped off the plastic, and lit one for Charlie.

"You're not gonna?"

"I actually don't smoke. They're just good for defusing drunk Irish assholes."  He gestured at Charlie, case in point. "You wanna try again, with whatever's up your ass?"

So Charlie told him. He wasn't sure how long he sat with his back against the wall of the club, ranting and whining and yes, even tearing up a few times. Mac kept lighting him new cigarettes when he smoked the last one down. The last blue of the sky darkened and college kids started to crowd the sidewalks, laughing and jostling each other back and forth.

"Okay, seriously." He said, when Charlie finally stopped to take a breath. "Is this waitress chick even that hot?"

"She's beautiful."

"There's a lot of beauty here, dude, it's a town full of college girls who would probably put out easier."

Charlie scrunched up his face. "I don't want that. I want her."

Mac shook his head, turning to check the IDs of a pair of girls in the small queue starting to form outside the club.  "Whatever, it's your funeral. '93, '93, okay." He waved them in. "Or like, your dick's funeral, at least."

"You're always such a poet." A loud, lofty voice piped up as the line moved forward. Charlie barely glanced at its owner, a lanky guy with sharp, almost gaunt cheekbones and a mop of brown curls.

But Mac - Mac went _pink_.

"Haha, yeah." He laughed, too loud and obviously fake. "That-that's...yeah." He reached for the guy's ID before the card was even fully out of his wallet. "You're all good, Den. Dennis." He amended, the flush on his cheeks growing darker.

The guy - Dennis - grinned. His smile kind of creeped Charlie out. It was thin and a little too long, a little mean. But Mac just grinned back, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Good man." Dennis said, and floated past, into the club, without a backwards glance. Mac stared after him, even after the door closed behind him.

"Oh dude. Sorry." Charlie said. Mac blinked, his body loosening up.

"For-" He coughed. "For, um, what?"

"I didn't mean to be all give, no take. Come on, tell me your Waitress problems. Two-way street."

"What are you talking about?" There went the eyebrow crinkle again. Charlie nodded towards the door.

"You checking out that guy. Are you dating, what?"

Mac went red again, but much faster and more intense. His hand dropped from his neck and balled into a fist. "I don't-I'm not-I don't-with Dennis-" He sputtered. He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed through his nose. " _You_ are!"

"What?"

"Shut up!"

Charlie raised both his hands in surrender. "Okay, Jesus. I think he likes what he sees, though." He tacked on the last part hastily, out of self-preservation more then true observation. But something in Mac's eyes softened. He touched his bare arms.

"Really? I mean, I do work out. Just try to stay in shape. Be healthy."

"It's working, man. It shows." Charlie babbled. He slowly let his body sink back down, watchful, but Mac seemed distracted from his rage, examine his own arm, a feather tattoo on his bicep, as he spoke.

"Look, if you want my advice - and you should, I'm pretty good at this shit - make a move. A big one. No girl's gonna fuck a guy whining outside a shitty college town club."

"A club _you_ work at."

"Yeah, no one is disputing that, idiot." Mac rolled his eyes, a little less embarrassed, defensive ."But if you're such a smart ass, you should be able to do better than that."

"Okay." Charlie nodded. "Yeah. What's the plan?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I am in college and moving countries so like, bear with me.

The side of Charlie’s skull vibrated and he jerked awake, a thin stream of drool drying on the side of his cheek. He blinked a few times before the world came into focus around him, the long desk his head rested on a few moments previously, the badly muffled tittering behind him, Dee Reynolds glaring at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Kelly.” Frank drawled with glee. He scooped up the stack of books he had just dropped next to Charlie’s head to startle him awake. Charlie cringed and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Shit. Sorry, man.” His mouth was dry and his head still ached from the night before. After his shift ended and Charlie calmed down, Mac invited him back to his shitty apartment and they huffed glue until five in the morning, discussing how to best romance The Waitress, as well as their favorite Dolph Lundgren movies and who the best WWE wrestler was. It was like he could breathe again, hanging out with Mac. It was a goddamn miracle there were still people in the world who didn't just study boring books or talk about internships, who didn't roll their eyes at his clothes or the way he talked. 

Mac dropped him off at the campus when the sun was high in the sky, on his way to his other job as a receptionist at a nearby gym. Charlie missed his first couple classes again, but his heart felt a little less broken, a little more full of purpose.

The rest of him was still pretty exhausted, evidently.

“Eh, this intro stuff, it’s boring as shit.” Frank waved him off. “Drink a Redbull next time, for Christ’s sake. Okay, everyone read the packets Dee printed out about the OJ trial for next time, as well as chapters 6-10. Scram.”

Charlie picked up the nubby pencil he swiped from the library and drew a couple triangles lightly on his arm, just to look busy. He could feel Dee’s watching him, but he didn’t look up.

He waited until the rest of the class filed out, rearranging his pencil on the desk in front of him as Dee watched him suspiciously, packing up her own purse. Frank sat down behind the desk and dug a bottle of vodka - real fancy shit, too, the kind that they kept in a separate chilled case at the liquor store - out of his briefcase. He bent over it, struggling to crack the seal on the lid. Charlie sprang up from his seat.

“I got it.” He reached over the desk and twisted the bottle open in one fluid motion. Frank’s thick eyebrows rose.

“Hey, thanks.”

“Uh, Professor Reynolds? I was kind of hoping to ask you about something.”

“Why don’t you have one of them computers?” Frank asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

“What?”

“Everyone is all type-y type.” He waggled his fingers in the hair, a demented piano player. “‘Cept Dee, but there’s something wrong with her laptop.”

“ _You_ broke it, Frank!” She piped up, indignant.

“It got Snowden’d, or some shit.” Frank said breezily. “But you don't got one. So what’s your excuse?”

Charlie shrugged. “I dunno, I just don’t have one. Look, I was wondering-”

“You don’t take notes on anything.”

“Hey, do you think you have space for one more student? Because I know this girl, _so_ smart, so cool, and she got boxed out.”

Frank smirked. “You trying’ to nail her?” Charlie didn’t say anything, but he felt his cheeks get hot, and in that Frank got his answer. “Yeah, okay. Tell her to show up next time, Dee’ll write her name on the thing. Maybe she’ll keep you awake.”

“Yes!” Charlie pumped his fist. “Thanks, man, seriously. I owe you one.”

Dee left a few moments after him, but her legs were much longer, and she fell in step with him as he scurried down the stairs; The Waitress’ had a Torts class ending soon, and he wanted to surprise her with the good news.

“You know, some people might be embarrassed to ask their law professor for a favor after falling asleep in their class.” She said. “You seem to operate on my dad’s weird frequency, though.”

Charlie smiled. “I’m a wild card.”

“Who's trying to get in the class? Your girlfriend?”

Charlie tucked the little pencil behind his ear. “She’s the love of my life.”

Dee stopped walking. She blinked, her nose crinkling. Charlie frowned.

“What?”

“I-I just didn’t think people actually talked like that. I’m sorry, are you in a movie?”

“I’ve dabbled in musicals, but no, not really an actor. I’m here to focus on bird law.” He was going to miss her if he didn’t hustle. He kept walking and Dee followed.

“Do you think it’s romantic that you both decided to go to school together? Because I’ve done the whole law school with a hanger-on, it’s total bullshit.” She asked.

“Yeah, I do. It’s gonna prove to her that I’m the kind of guy she wants.”

His phrasing made Dee pause. “You are...dating, right?”

“Well, not in the technical sense.”

“Holy shit, you _followed_ her here?”

Charlie pushed open the front door of the building, impatiently. “When you say it like that, it sounds stalker-y.”

“It _is_ stalker-y, Chris!”

“My name is _Charlie_. And you know what? I don’t see how this is any of your business.” There she was, sitting on a bench with a big coffee balanced next to her on one side. And on the other...was that guy. Brad. Charlie’s fists curled.

Dee sputtered, blowing her long, lopsided bangs out of her eyes. “I just think...some of us actually had to work to get in here, and graduate, and you’re like way too old to be in a first year class-” Her voice was getting higher, more obfuscated with uncomfortable laughter. “-And this place isn’t for your sex fantasies, you know! People don’t get to have sex all the time in law school! Sometimes you just intimidate men and-”

“Hey. Sorry. Could you just like, shut up for five minutes and walk over there with me?” He jerked his head towards the bench.

“ _Excuse_ me-”

Charlie grabbed hold of her arm and marched across the quad, raising his other hand in greeting. “Hey you!”

She looked away from Brad, and the smile slid off her face. “What do you want, Charlie.”

“Uh, guess who has two thumbs and got you into Frank Reynolds class?” He pointed at himself with one hand, and the pointer finger.

The Waitress raised an eyebrow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, just give Dee here your info and you're all good. Tell her, Dee.” Dee just stood there. “ _Dee._ ”

“You said not to say anything!” She hissed, shoving his shoulder with hers.

“I’m sorry, what’s happening here?” Brad asked.

“I don’t know.” sighed Dee.

“Charlie got me into Frank Reynolds’ class, the one I was telling you about.” She was brightening. God, she had the most beautiful smile. “That’s...that’s actually really nice, Charlie.”

Charlie knew in real life people’s feet couldn’t push up and float a few inches off the ground, but it sure did feel like it. He grinned. “Yeah. Of course. For you, anything.”

Brad glanced between her, Charlie, and Dee, who had clearly just given up on following the conversation and took out her phone. “Hi, are you guys L1?”

“He is. I’m done. I passed.” Dee intoned, still texting with her thumb.

“Charlie...Charlie just showed up here. Didn’t he?” The Waitress said. Brad held out a hand, but retracted it halfway, his eyes widening.

“Oh. _Oh,_ you’re Charlie.”

“Yup.” Charlie said, brusque. “And you’re…”

The Waitress leaned into Brad’s chest. “This is Brad. He’s my boyfriend.”

“The _boyfriend?_ ” Dee repeated, in that stupid, high-pitched mocking voice. Charlie bumped her hip with his - why were they standing so close to each other anyway? - and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Um, hey listen, what if we go get a drink or something, celebrate you getting into Frank’s class?”

“Oh-” Brad started to say something, but The Waitresses eyes flashed.

“No, Charlie. We actually have to go to a study group for Contract Law.”

“Sweet." He rubbed his palms together. "I could get into that.”

The Waitress shook her head. Her eyes were too bright, and kind of freaking Charlie out. “Sorry, it’s all full. It’s kind of for people who can, you know, read.”

“ _Honey_.” Brad intoned, looking a little uncomfortable. She ignored him.

“I’ll see you in class. Brad, come on.” She picked up her coffee and dragged him off the bench. Dee put down her phone.

“Jesus, what a cunt.”

“Hey! Don’t fucking call her that!” He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to ignore that he could feel his heart pounding in against the bone of his wrist. “She just- it’s not even…” he petered off, pathetically. “I can read.” He muttered.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I can!”

Dee put her phone back in her pocket and sighed. “Charlie, would you like to come have dinner with me?”

He frowned, down at the grass, which was starting to go yellow with the fall. “No. Look, I know it didn't look good there, but I'm not just gonna go sleep around with other girls because of this little speed bump-”

“Jesus Christ, I wasn't asking you on a date, you shithead. My brother and I live off-campus, it’s like a two-minute walk. We were going to eat pizza and watch _Thundergun Express_. I am asking if you'd like to come.” 

“Oh.” He swallowed. “Why?”

“Because you’re a weird kid and I don’t want you coming back here tomorrow with a shotgun.” Dee readjusted the strap of her purse and rolled her eyes, but something like a smirk played at her lips.

“...Okay.” He said, in a voice much smaller than normal.


	5. Chapter 5

Dee lived in the nice part of town, right outside of campus and near one of the outlet malls that Charlie used to shoplift from in high school. Her apartment had a receptionist, who smiled when she buzzed the two of them in.

“Hi Dee.” She chirped, before going back to clicking away on her laptop.

“Wow, fancy shit.” Charlie glanced back over his shoulder at the receptionist as Dee strode to an elevator. “You must make a lot as a TA.”

Dee laughed, loud and sarcastic. “No.” She pressed the button for the sixth floor.

“Oh. Well, what does your brother do?”

“Besides be an asshat?” She leaned against the back wall of the elevator, her shoulders slumping inward; her posture was really terrible. “He works for Frank too. At the firm, he mostly does divorce cases.”

The doors slid back open with a gentle _ding_ , right into the Reynolds’ living room, stuffed with fat leather chairs and a flat TV nailed to the wall. These people were next level _loaded_. The realization made something sour in Charlie’s stomach. He coughed a little, trying to keep it in his throat, but spit flew onto the hardwood floor anyway.

“Don’t be gross.” Dee chided, flopping down on the nearest chair, her arms and legs spread wide like a starfish, her hair fanning out behind her. It was a nice color blonde, Charlie noticed. Not as pretty as The Waitress’, but nice. He sat down on the ground next to her; leather couches freaked him out a little, he started thinking too much about how they were just a bunch of dead skin.

“Are you gonna be a real lawyer, too, when you’re older?”

Dee’s eyes flashed, and she hoisted herself upright in her chair. “I _am_ a real lawyer.”

“Oh.”

“I graduated Penn Law.” She chuckled, but it was coming out high, a little screechy again. “That’s an Ivy League law school. I think that makes me a lawyer.”

“Passing the bar is actually what makes you a lawyer, sis.” A snide, cool voice piped up, down the hall behind the couch. Charlie turned towards the sound, but Dee just rolled her eyes, letting her head drop against the back of the couch.

“Which some of us did, and some of us - you - did not.” A lanky guy stepped out into the living room, in a loose tie and the remnants of a gray suit, smirking.

Dee raised her hand above her head and flipped him off without turning around. “Fuck you.”

He held the smirk and tilted his head, slightly bitchy. “I’m just stating facts.”

Charlie snapped his fingers, placing him after a few seconds of recognition. “Oh shit! You’re the guy!”

Dennis raised an eyebrow, looking down to the floor in a slow, deliberate motion, like he couldn’t quite understand why someone was down there. “What guy?”

“The guy Mac-” _has a weird crush on that he won’t cop to._ Charlie swallowed the rest of the sentence just in time. “M-my buddy works at the club downtown, I've seen you down there all the time.”

“Ah.” Dennis exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. He almost seemed disappointed by this reasoning. “Well, the sink’s been blocked for like three days, I don’t know if you’re the one I talked to on the phone.”

Charlie’s frowned. “What phone?”

“He’s not the plumber, dumbass.” Dee pulled off her sweater, balled it up, and threw it at her brother’s face. “This is Charlie, he’s in one of Frank’s classes. He’s hanging out with us tonight.”

Dennis didn’t seem remotely abashed. “Well, how was I supposed to know that? Some of us are busy with our jobs.”

“I _have_ a job!”

“No Dee, you have an indentured servitude, you make copies and grade papers.”

“I can look at your sink if you want.” Charlie offered. The Reynolds both started and looked down at him in sync, having forgotten for a moment he was there.

“You know how to do that shit?” Dee said, surprised.

Charlie shrugged. "Yeah. My mom was scared of hiring repairmen when I was growing up so I just kind of figured it out."

"Huh." Dee said. Dennis whacked her shoulder. 

“See? Don’t talk down to the kid!”

“Oh really? Oh, don't talk down to him? You’re the one who thought he was the help!”

“I’m just saying, if he’s offering…” Dennis raised his eyebrows and let his hand wave vaguely off into the air.

Charlie pushed himself off the ground. Dee and Dennis had slipped back into their own private world of sniping, and didn’t look over when he slipped past them, into the bathroom. 

It took him maybe three minutes to fix the sink - mostly through yanking the plug clean out and sticking his hand down the pipe - and another five to peek through the Reynolds' medicine cabinets. A lot of hair products, make-up, and half a dozen orange bottles full of pills. They has those tight white caps that Charlie could never open; it looked like Dee or Dennis - the name on the label started D-E, but his eyes weren't cooperating on reading the rest - had the same problem. Every bottle was full to the top. He shut the mirror and hurried back to the living room.

Dennis tossed him a beer - “Nice, now I don't have to pay a real guy” - and ordered a pizza that he removed one slice of and dabbed with a napkin but didn’t really eat. Everyone had already seen _Thundergun_ at least twice, so he spent a good portion of the movie holding court, loudly, over the dialogue. He and Dee were twins, it turned out (“Whose older?” Charlie asked. “We’re twins, it doesn’t matter.” Dennis snapped at the same moment Dee triumphantly blurted out “I am!”) and Dennis was the second Reynolds in Reynolds  & Reynolds.

He was also in charge of running day-to-day operations while his father completed his community service; something he clearly was not coping with as well as he boasted he was. His eyes were smudged with dark red exhaustion and his hands trembled a little every time he reached for his beer.

“I swear to God, Dee, the Ponderosas are gonna kill me.” He said, more than once after Dee put in the movie. “Have you met Bill’s piece-of-shit kids?”

“Yeah. Many times. Shut up, we’re watching the movie.” The phone rang. Dennis groaned and slumped farther into his chair, rubbing his face.

“Ten bucks that’s them, wanting to give me shit about the goddamn custody arrangement again. I swear to God, these kids have no goddamn respect for their elders, not like we did. I was dropping Brian off at Mandy’s on Sunday and he told me to shut up. _Shut up!_ You don’t say that to your father! Not if you want to live!”

“You got a kid?” Charlie asked, dribbling beer onto his pizza before folding it in half. He always found it saved time, to combine his drinks and food into one mushy energy source.

“Oh God, don’t get him started.” Dee got up to go answer the phone.

Something in Dennis’ face changed; for a split second, he didn’t seem as exhausted. The gaunt, sharp angles of his cheeks and mouth softened. “Yeah. He’s three.” He said, somehow smug with this knowledge. “Senior year of undergrad, my girlfriend gets knocked up. Most people would just fall apart, right?” Dennis grinned, not waiting for Charlie to respond. “Not me. Got into law school, did the whole thing with a baby, _and_ I passed the bar on the first try. I’m a fucking god.”

“You’re a dumbass with manic episodes and a dad who made a call.” Dee rolled her eyes, the phone wedged in her ear. “Oh, hey Artemis.”

“So you’re like...into girls and shit?” Charlie asked. Mac was gonna be so bummed. Dennis’ eyebrows knit together, and he shifted closer to the armrest.

“Um, buddy, I know you got that blue-collar charm and everything-” 

 _“Motherfucker!”_ Dee clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Dennis turned before Charlie could protest that he was asking for a friend.

“What?” Dee shook her head and hurried back over to the couch. Charlie could hear the faint, tinny sound of someone still talking on the other end. “Dee, _what?”_

She plopped down right next to her brother, their knees knocking together, and jammed her finger on the speakerphone button.

_“-So they’ve got some cops over there now, but Bill still wants your daddy to represent them. Is Dennis there?”_

“Yeah.” Dennis leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, what’s happening?”

_“Jane Ponderosa was just found dead in her apartment. Bill's been arrested for it. This divorce just turned into a murder trial.”_

Charlie figured Dennis might want to take another go at opening those pill bottles, now. 


	6. Chapter 6

Dee wouldn’t stop tapping her fingernails against the screen of her phone.

It lay, face up, on the arm of her living room chair. It didn’t seem like she knew she was doing it - her eyes stared a long way off.

Dennis excused himself back to the office as soon as he and his sister got off the phone with their father’s paralegal Artemis. “Goddammit.” He said, rubbing his tightly balled fists against his eyes. “This is such a stupid goddamn situation.”

“Are you going to go get Frank? We can take my car.” Dee stood up with him. But Dennis only laughed, mean and high, and told her this was a job for real lawyers.

“Just stay here with _Good Will Hunting_ here.” He jutted his chin at Charlie.

“My name’s Charlie.” He piped up, feebly, but Dennis and Dee were already squabbling, right to the moment the elevator doors closed on the former's exhausted face.

Dee slumped in her chair, defeated, and thus began the tapping. It was very arrhythmic. How come no one could ever keep time? It drove Charlie nuts.

He wasn’t crazy about the dull, glum look in Dee’s eyes, either. It really bothered him to see her deflated, for some reason.

The _Thundergun_ DVD menu cycled through twice before he tried to break the silence. “No offense, but your brother’s kind of a dick.”

It worked. “I _know_.” Dee exclaimed, scrambling to lean forward on her legs, mercifully ceasing the tapping. “That’s _exactly_ what he is, and it’s weird that nobody talks about it.”

She stared at Charlie for a second, her face open and alight, before they both chuckled uncomfortably at her eagerness to bitch. She reached out and patted the cushion next to her. Charlie heeled, despite how weirded out leather made him. The floor was starting to make his ass numb.

“So. Charlie,” Dee said.

“Yeah?”

“You _gotta_ tell me what the deal is with your notes.”

He frowned. “What notes?”

“In class. You don’t record the lectures, you don’t have a computer or a notebook. You got a photographic memory or something?”

“Oh.” He shrugged, and his shoulders didn’t quiet relax back down. “I don’t take notes so good.”

“Or at all.”

“Yeah.” Charlie laughed, but it came out a little hollow. “Hey, is there anymore pizza?”

“No.” Dee twisted so she was leaning into the couch with her left shoulder, looking at him face-to-face. “How are you doing the homework without your notes?”

Charlie shrugged. “I don’t think your dad really cares if you do the homework.”

Dee raised her eyebrows, fair point. “What about your other classes?”

“I really only go to Frank’s.” He shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like all the questions.

“What the shit? Charlie, you’re going to flunk out.”

“I don’t _care!_ ” Charlie flopped onto his back, the springs in the couch creaking underneath him. “I came here for her, okay? And, y’know, if bird law happens as a bonus, then it happens.”

“What the fuck is bird law? Charlie, could you be serious for like, four seconds? A woman is _dead_.”

“I’m not the one who killed her! I’ve been sitting right here!”

“Jesus Christ. Charlie. This is a classy establishment okay? It’s an Ivy League school. She’s just some slut who won’t give you the time of day.”

“Don’t-”

“ _You_ don’t! You don’t fuck up with your chance to be rich and powerful because you wanna get _laid!_ ”

Charlie screamed. Just loud, warbling noise. He screamed and rocked himself forward, standing up from the couch. “I don’t wanna-it’s not about that. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, okay? So I’m gonna go. I’m gonna find The Waitress.”

“ _Who?_ ” 

* * *

He checked the library - all three of them - but two of them were locked and dark, and The Waitress and her so-called “boyfriend” Brad were nowhere to be found. It was very late. After circling the campus twice, cursing Dee under his breath, he gave up and headed downtown, towards Mac’s club. The fall wind whipped through the holes in his jeans and his legs numbed by the time he got to Main Street.

“Jesus Charlie, do you have a coat?” Mac said, by way of greeting. The line wasn’t very long tonight, just a few undergrads shivering in red miniskirts. Charlie shook his head and sat down on the curb. “What’s wrong now?” Mac shooed the girls into the club and sat down next to him. “Why are you always in crisis?”

Charlie tried to smile. “I saw your boyfriend tonight.”

Mac jerked back the cigarette and lighter he had pulled half out of his pocket. “Fuck you.”

“He’s twins with my friend Dee. Or I don’t know, she’s not...she’s kind of a bitch.”

“Most women are.”

“That whole family's batshit.”

Mac’s shoulders hitched, and for a long time he didn’t answer.

“I dunno.” He finally ground out. “He’s cool. He comes through to drink and stuff a couple of times a week. We say hi.”

“He’s got a kid.”

Mac stretched his legs out into traffic and handed Charlie the lighter and cig. “...Good for him. The Bible says we should procreate.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Okay, _that’s_ what we’re going with?”

“Go forth and multiply.” Mac glared. “Why are you telling me this, anyway? Why do I care if some hot guy I barely know has a k-” He clamped his mouth shut and flinched. “...Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Charlie exhaled a puff of smoke, made bigger by the cloud his hot breath created in the cold air. “It’s probably good you don’t fuck him-”

“ _Charlie!_ ”

“-they’re both being jerks. Dee told me I was fucking up my life, blowing off class and shit to chase The Waitress.”

“ _Pshaw._ What does she know?”

“Right? They think they know better than everyone ‘cause they wear sweaters and shit.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Mac said, jerking his arm like an uppercut punch. “Not gay sex.” He added hastily.

“I-I didn’t think that’s what you meant at all.” Charlie tilted his head back. They watched people hurry in from the cold across the street. “My teacher is gonna defend a guy who killed his wife.” 

“That’s badass.” Mac nodded.

“Yeah. He’s looking for interns, too.”

“What’s an intern?”

“Like a helper. I don’t think you get paid though, it’s more like a slave." 

Mac crinkled his nose in disgust. “Pass.”

“Yeah.”

“Still though, if you did it I bet it’d make you look smart to that girl you like.” Mac rubbed his bare arms; if he was as cold as Charlie, he wasn’t gonna admit it. “Bet it’d shut Dennis’ sister up, too. Getting a guy off death row, who's not taking this seriously now?"

“...True.”

“...is she hot, at least?” 

“You don’t have to do that with me, man.” Charlie knocked his shoulder against Mac’s. Mac's skin tinged pink for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold, but Charlie's mind already started drifting. Tomorrow in class he was gonna ask Frank if he had some kind of tape recorder Charlie could borrow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long. It was an accident. Shit is getting real.

Charlie got to class early the next day. Frank was nowhere to be seen. He guessed he wasn’t surprised; even if he was a teacher who cared, he’d still be too busy with the murder trial to get to class before he had to. A clump of other students, some sitting, some standing behind their friends' chairs gathered in the center of the second row of seats. His stomach leapt as he noticed The Waitress sitting in the center of the group, her laptop open in front of her, reading aloud. 

“- _Ponderosa, 36, the son of Philadelphia socialites, recently made page 3 for his acrimonious divorce from his wife Jane, 33. Authorities found Mrs. Ponderosa dead from blunt force trauma to the head on her patio after a 911 call placed by her children. Mr. Ponderosa could not account for his whereabouts in the hours leading up to the discovery of the body and was arrested for his wife’s murder late last night. He is being held without bail and will be represented against the state of Pennsylvania by Frank Reynolds, who was previously handling his divorce. He is expected to be arraigned this Friday.”_ She closed the lid of her computer. “Jesus.”

“Do you think that means he’s gonna push up picking interns?” Brad asked from behind her. He rested both his hands on her shoulders and they shared an excited grin. Charlie wanted to punch him. “The trial won’t be for a couple months but the preliminary hearings-”

“Yeah, that’s coming up.” Charlie said, forcing his way by somebody’s shoulder to stand next to Brad. The Waitress ignored him, staring straight ahead like nothing was there. Brad just seemed startled. Sometimes people didn’t realize Charlie was there until he was right up on them.

“Okay boners, everyone sit down.” It wasn’t Frank striding up to the board, but Dee, wearing dark sunglasses and carrying Starbucks. “No one gets to help with the trial until you’ve made it through the first month without swallowing Drano.” She dropped her purse on the front desk with a heavy thud.

“Where’s Professor Reynolds?” Brad asked, his hand shooting in the air.

 _“Where’s Professor Reynolds?”_ Dee repeated back to him, in a whiny, mocking tone. Charlie felt his annoyance with her lift, just a little. “He’s at the office and he asked me to cover for him, but it’s not my goddamn community service, so this is what we’re gonna do. We're gonna sit in silence for the hour. You can all catch up on your reading or swipe through Bunchers.”

Brad swallowed and shifted on his foot. “It’s just that the syllabus says we have a test-”

She sat down and flipped up her sunglasses. Her blue irises looked almost turquoise in contrast to the bloodshot whites of her eyes and the deep gray smears of exhaustion underneath them. She glared at Brad. “Come on, Brad. Don't be a nerd.” The glasses went back down and her shifted her feet, one crossed over the other, onto the desk.

Charlie felt that little warm feeling in his stomach inflate. Dee might be a bitch, but she had balls. Brad closed his mouth and sat down next to The Waitress, who touched his arm comfortingly and opened her computer again. As everyone settled in to their unexpected study hall, murmuring gently, Charlie got up from his seat.

“Hey. Dee.” He stage-whispered, walking along the edge of the room until he got down to the pulpit. Dee let her head drop down towards him. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he could sense her glaring. “You hungover?”

“No I am not hungover. I was just up late last night.”  She turned her head towards the rest of the class, and then leaned in conspiratorially. That same energy from last night radiated off of her, the need to brag or gossip, connect somehow. “I looked it up and there’s a sitting for the bar next month.”

“Oh, cool. What bar are you going to sit on?”

“What?” She yanked the sunglasses off again and winced. “No, I’m gonna study really hard and pass this time, then Dennis and Frank will have to let me be on the legal team. I was up until four AM going through the stuff, and I didn’t even start drinking until 2."

“Alright, that’s cool. Maybe you can record the stuff you’re studying for me.” Charlie leaned his elbows on the desk. Dee didn’t back away, but confusion flashed across her face.

“What happened to this all being stupid bullshit?”

“I-I-I don’t think that I ever said that.” Charlie let both hands wave vaguely, but Dee grinned, victorious. She reached out and jabbed Charlie’s chest with one long finger.

“ _I got through to you._ Shit, am I a good teacher?”

“No! You're not a teacher at all! Do you just- do you have a tape recorder?”

“Screw you, I’m not doing your studying for you.”

“Jesus Christ. Fine. Do you have a tape recorder I could _borrow_?”

“Um, no, I don’t, because it’s not 1987.” She leaned back in her chair and studied him for a minute. “...I think I have an old iPhone you can use. _Maybe._ ”

Charlie clapped his hands together and pointed them at her. “Sweet Dee, coming through.”

“Jesus Christ.” Dee pointed him back to his chair, but he was pretty sure he saw her smile up at the ceiling.

The last gasp of summer evaporated into crisp fall. Dee brought him her old phone and showed him how to record his lectures. Multiple lectures. Dee sent him voice messages at random intervals that nagged him into classes he never attended before. They were so boring and long, and it sucked that he basically went to every class twice; once to record, and then again when he listened to it that night on the bus back to his apartment, or sitting outside with Mac while he worked. At least Dee’s phone was still on some kind of plan - he wasn’t sure if she knew, but he was gonna enjoy using it to look at cat pictures online and crank call people with Mac as long as it still worked.

Frank came back to class, eventually, sporadically, and administered a first-quarter test, much to Brad’s relief. Charlie took one look at the pages of open-response questions, faked nausea, and ducked out of the room. Afterwards he chased Dee to a coffee cart and bribed her with a six-pack Mac swiped him to read the questions to him and write down his answers. He kept rubbing his neck and addressing the ceiling while he did it, not quite able to look at her while she did it, but when they finished she graded it on the spot, while they stood on the sidewalk.

“73. You passed, at least.”

“Yes!” He pumped a fist in the air. Dee tossed her pen back in her purse and handed him his paper.

“You know, some people have reading tutors.”

“I got you to read for me, that’s one better.” He heart stuttered after he said that; he usually didn’t….acknowledge it, this _issue_ he had, in so many words. It just ended in people being assholes and teachers calling his mom.

It’s not like he _liked_ being like this. He was pushing his late twenties, it was _embarrassing._

But Dee just rolled her eyes and tried to not look pleased at the compliment. “Frank’s not gonna take you as an intern unless you start getting better grades.”

“Okay, you wanna study together? You can do your bar stuff and I can do this?”

“Dennis has Brian this weekend, my apartment is gonna be covered with baby crap and screaming.” Dee said. “I don’t do the law library, I got beef with one of the book bitches there, back to L1.”

“You could come over to my apartment.” Charlie said before he realized it was coming out of his mouth. Dee blinked.

“Your apartment?” Clearly the idea Charlie lived _anywhere_ , that he didn’t just pop in and out of existence around the Penn campus, had just occurred to her.

“I mean, it’s not as fancy as yours, but there’s no little kids. Just cats.” What was he doing? He couldn’t remember the last time he had someone in his place besides when his landlord came by to scream about Charlie’s inability to pay rent on time.

Dee crinkled up her nose, but considered it. “Yeah. Okay. Long as you have beer. I need it to study.”

“Okay, Dee.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “So like, nine tonight? I live over on the other side of the river, 19 Whalen Street, apartment 31.”

If Dee recognized the address as one in the projects, she didn’t let on. Instead, she nodded. He saw her throat make a tiny, spastic motion, like she was gonna puke. He should probably leave. "See you then.”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he smiled when he walked away, holding his C- paper crunched up in one hand. Studying was not something he usually looked forward to, but now...he guessed being a serious law student was making him a nerd.

* * *

“Dude, I’M TALKING TO YOU.” Mac yelled, right next to Charlie’s face. Charlie pulled off his headphones and let them hang around his neck.

“ _What?_ ”

Mac shrugged. “I’m bored. Take that shit off if you're gonna stand here.”

Charlie supposed this was the point of having two ears. “Fine.” He lifted the left one back up to cup his ear. He was supposed to leave to meet Dee at his apartment in an hour anyway, he could study better then.

“I was saying that I gotta get laid, it’s been like six months.” Mac said with a groan. Charlie managed not to roll his eyes. _Six months? Oh buddy, have I got you beat._ “The talent's been lagging, you know?” Mac fidgeted with the blue light he used to examine licenses for a second, before asking, in a deliberate, overly casual voice, “So, you go over to your friend Dee’s, lately?”

“Oh my God dude, that was weak.” Charlie laughed. “That was so _weak!_ You see him more than I do.” He still wasn’t sure if the liking women thing was an exclusive preference for Dennis, but he hoped not. Mac was a good guy; he deserved to get what he wanted.

“Yeah, I say hi. You’ve been in their house.”

“Just hi? You gotta push harder than that if you want him to ask you out.”

Mac tensed up again. He shoved his shoulder against Charlie’s, jostling him against the side of the wall. “I don’t _get_ asked out.  I’m not a girl.”

“Okay. Then you ask _him_ out. I ask The Waitress out like three times a week, it’s easy.”

“Hmph.” Mac dragged the toe of his combat boot against the sidewalk, kicking up a few loose pebbles. He didn’t look at Charlie. “I dunno, it just seems like a lot of work, and if he says...then I have to like, get a new shirt and…”

“Dude...have you ever been on a date?”

“I’ve had sex!” Mac snapped, the blood rushed to his cheeks and an angry vein at the corner of his forehead alarmingly fast. “I’ve had tons of sex!”

“Sure, I know.” Mac reached out and punched Charlie's shoulder. “Fuck, I said I know!”

“Dating is just like, a lead-in to fucking, right? I’m saving everyone time!” Mac seethed, throwing his back up against the wall.

Charlie considered this. He counted to five, ten, watched Mac’s breathing steady, before he dared to speak again. "Yeah, but I dunno, Dennis and his sister, they’re pretty classy. They’re always saying so.”

“Yeah, I know.” Mac made a _duh_ noise, arching his eyebrows.

“They might expect it. You know, before the fucking.” Without warning, the image of Dee pulling off her shirt, undoing her jeans, flashed through his mind. He swallowed. His tongue felt dry.

“It’s super easy, just like…” he took off his headphones again; Torts could wait. This was for love, goddammit (or at least sex). “Okay, you’re really into working out and stuff, right?”

Mac perked up, back on familiar territory. “Yeah. I care about my body, I think people appreciate that.”

“Sure, sure, so like, show off a little. Flex or something, and when he stares at you, ask him then.” And if he didn’t, they’d know he was straight and find something else for Mac to like.

“Huh.” Mac seemed impressed. “College might be making you smart.”

“Shut up.” Charlie said, but he laughed.

“Hey, my shift ends soon, you wanna go rage?”

“Dude, yeah.” Something vibrated in Charlie’s sweatshirt. “Shit, though, I have to go study.”

“Lame.” Another buzz. Charlie reached in and pulled out the phone. “Whose texting you? I'm like your only friend.”

“I dunno.” it wasn’t a text, it was a recorded message. The top of the conversation box was dotted with the pink emojis he punched in remember it was Dee. He pressed play.

 _Hey Charlie, I gotta -_ there was a dry welching sound - _we can’t study tonight, Dennis said he needed my help at the firm, I think it’s a Ponderosa thing -_ another gag - _go get drunk and try not to date rape that girl. I call you later._

“What happened?” Mac asked. Charlie stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

“Nothing.”

“You look like someone just punched your mom.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t-” He glanced at the door to the club, behind the ratty red rope. “Forget it, yeah, let's go out.”

Mac followed his gaze. “Yeah, sure, but not here, I’m sick of this fucking place.”

“Wherever. I don’t care.”

Mac took him to a bar a few blocks away, with rainbow flags hanging off the awning. Mac’s eyes shifted back and forth as they waited in line, and he didn’t fully exhale until they were inside the building, full of handsome, muscular men. Towards the back, a dance floor with bright, flashing lights was packed with people gyrating. Mac pulled off his sweatshirt and shoved it in Charlie’s arms.

“Get a drink, I’ll be back soon." He shouted over the din.

“Mac, I don’t wanna drink alone.” Charlie whined, but Mac’s eyes were elsewhere. The bartender waved to him and he flushed, pleased. Maybe he wasn’t as repressed as Charlie pegged him for.

“Twenty minutes. Half an hour. Don’t go in the bathroom.” And with a flash, he was off, dissolving into the crowd on the dance floor.

Charlie sighed and pushed his way to the front of the bar. A pack of giggling girls around his age tried to get the bartender's attention to no avail; clearly a new experience for them.

“Hey, can I have a beer?” Charlie asked, raising his arm to flag him down. If Mac wasn’t gonna hang out with him, he needed to get seriously drunk; all the noise and crowds got him all hyped up and frazzled. 

“Ugh, of course they serve the fucking twink.” One of the girls said, as Charlie cracked open his beer. She tapped on his shoulder, he tensed and turned around. “Hey!” She shouted. Her lips were painted bright red and big gold earrings wobbled against her neck. “They don't pay attention to girls, do you think you could order me a rum and coke?”

“Yeah, okay.” Charlie got the drink and handed it to her. She waved over her friends.

“Hey, he’s helping us!”

He wasn’t sure if he actually saw her at first, just a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes in the crowd. Sometimes his brain saw her everywhere. But the incredulous “ _Charlie_ _?”_ confirmed his suspicions.

The Waitress and her friends crowded around him. She kept staring at him like he was from outer space as he tracked down three, four drinks.

“Alright, m’lady, what’ll it be?” He turned, asking her last.

“I’m...I’m sober, three months. Charlie, what are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “My friend brought me.”

“This is a gay bar.”

“Then what are _you_ doing here?” Ha. He was gonna be awesome arguing in court.

“I’m taken, and I don’t like going to clubs where someone else is gonna try to grab my ass.” She crossed her arms as her friends scattered, searching for a table, bobbing to the music. “Charlie, are you…?”

Oh. Oh _shit._ This was interesting. He shrugged and took a sip of his beer.

“Just trying something new. So that test was brutal, huh?”

The Waitress’ face twitched, teetering on the edge of something sweet. She took a step back from the bar and Charlie followed. “Yeah.” She sighed. “Hey, I didn’t-I didn’t know you were dealing with this stuff.” She nodded to the gay pride banner tacked up behind the bar. 

He shrugged again. Anything to keep that soft look of understanding in her eyes. She was looking at him like she understood him. He _knew_ it, he always knew she’d be the one who could understand him. 

“We don’t-we don’t have to talk about it, if you’re not ready.” She said, waving some invisible block away with a push of both palms. “And yeah, I hope I passed.” 

They spent ten blissful minutes discussing how crazy Frank was, and how there was an L1 mixer coming up soon, and how she wasn’t sure what dress she was going to wear, she had green shoes she liked but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to buy a whole new dress to match them. She had never leaned into him like this before, she had never smiled so easy and relaxed. Charlie decided he didn’t care if Mac ever came back. 

“So I had the print from the book on my cheek all morning.” She laughed, and he did too. “Frank’s crap keeps be up until at least midnight every day.” 

“I know, the class is already terrible, and the internship on top of it is gonna be nuts.” He said. He lifted his bottle to take a sip, and over the lip, he saw The Waitress’ expression morph to confused and then to something a little leaner.

“Wait, you’re actually going to apply for Frank’s internship?”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Why?”

Her face changed again, into a smile and a laugh - but this laugh wasn’t her nice laugh. “You’re serious?”

He tucked his free hand into the crook of his opposite elbow. “Course I’m serious. I’m a serious law student.”

“Charlie.” And for the first time he hated how she said his name. 

All soft and whiny and just like every reading specialist or special ed teacher who had trailed behind him in high school, just like his mom when he she told him that it was a good thing he was repeating kindergarten, just like Alan, every time he clucked his tongue, disappointed but not surprised, when Charlie told him, no, he didn’t have his AA from the community college yet, it’ll take another semester, just one, he’s going to get it this time.

She wasn’t annoyed with him; she pitied him.

One of the songs playing on the dance floor ended. The room became strangely quiet in his ears, even though plenty of people were still talking. “Um, what?”

She just kept looking at him, with those same soft, pitying eyes. “Come on. You’re not smart enough for that.”

“Look, am I on glue or did-did we not get into the same law school?”

“You’re always on glue.”

“That’s not the point!” He knew he was screeching. He just wanted to make her stop looking at him like that. “We’re both in class together, we both want Frank’s internship-”

“Yeah, but you didn’t really.” She said. “You tricked people Charlie, it’s not the same thing. You can’t- you can’t do it."

“I’m….” He tilted his head, grimaced. A cold, hard rock landed in the pit of his stomach. “I’m never gonna be good enough for you, am I?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Charlie swallowed. He leaned over and set his beer on the bar. She flinched, like he was gonna throw it in her face. Who the fuck did she think he was? Who the fuck did she think _she_ was?

He felt her eyes on the back of his neck the entire time he walked out past the bar, out the door, but he didn’t turn around.


	8. Chapter 8

Charlie sat in the alley outside the Rainbow, rolling a metal trashcan lid back and forth on the ground between his splayed legs, until he saw Mac leaving out the side door. He had three red marks down his neck, hickies on the verge turning purple and a flushed, slightly embarrassed look on his face.  

“Mac!” He called, springing up at the edge of the street.

“Fuck!” Mac swung wildly in the air near Charlie’s head, missing his face by inches. He was halfway through a roundhouse kick before he realized who it was. “Jesus Christ! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t fucking sneak up on me out here! My training will take over.” He cast a nervous look down the rest of the alley, then up at the rainbow flags waving gently in the breeze.

“Sorry.” Charlie said again. His voice came out tiny. Mac’s eyebrows arched up and together, on guard.

“Why are you back here, dude? It's full of like rats and crazy homeless people.”

Charlie shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Mac relaxed. “Now you’re speaking my language.” To Charlie’s surprise, he leaned forward and slung his arm around Charlie’s neck, pulling him to his side. “Thanks for being cool about coming here. I know it's...” He shrugged and glared down the alley again, at nothing in particular.

Charlie let his head drop against Mac’s bare shoulder as they walked back down the street. “I left your sweatshirt in there.”

“It hid my tats anyway.”

* * *

Charlie slept over Mac’s apartment. He didn’t mean to, he just got so drunk he couldn’t really stand so good, let alone find his way back home. He woke up the next morning, on the floor next to Mac’s couch, with a headache so splitting his vision doubled. He groaned and curled into himself. The last thing he remembered was The Waitress’ face, looking at him like he was nothing.

“Bro, I gotta get to work, you need to go home.” Mac called as he walked out of his kitchen nook. He was pulling on a black stretchy shirt imprinted with the name of the gym he worked at during the day. It didn’t really hide his hickies; he probably liked that.

“Mmm, too loud.” Charlie mumbled, tucking his chin against his chest.

Mac laughed. “I’m surprised you’re even alive, little man. You played Edward Fortyhands twice. Edward Eightyhands.”

Did he _want_ to be alive? It seemed like a lot of moving and light, at the moment. Kind of a hassle. “’m just gonna lie here for a little.” He told the carpet.

“Jesus, you’re whiny. All night it was _‘boo-hoo, she doesn’t love me’_ _‘waaa, I’m just trying to be smart’_ ” Mac crouched down to lace up his combat boots. “And who the hell is Jack?”

Charlie sat up. “What?”

“We were trying to watch _Indiana Jones_ and you pussied out, started crying about some guy named Jack and the night or the night man or something?” Mac laughed again. Stupid, drunk blabbering. Charlie hugged his knees to his chest.

“...Crazy.”

Mac was standing much closer, all the sudden. “What just happened?”

“What?”

“You just stared into space for like, two full minutes and then said ‘crazy’.”

Charlie laughed, shaky. “Yeah, it’s like, what is he even talking about?”

Mac snapped his fingers in front of his eyes. “Are we talking right now? Like to each other? Are you still blasted?”

Charlie laughed again and stood up, an intense wave of nausea rolling through him. He fell back on his knees and dry heaved, spit stretching down from his lips and dangling dangerously close to Mac’s clean floor.

“Dude, if you’re gonna barf, do it somewhere else.” Mac grabbed Charlie’s coat and phone and threw them on the ground next to him in a bunch. “Dennis’ sister won’t stop calling.”

“Dee?”

“Sure, whatever.”

Huh. A lot of nerve after she ditched him last night. He dug through his pockets, and, as if on cue, it started to buzz again. He winced and answered, holding it far away from his head. “Hello?”

“ _Shit! I’m so goddamn fucked, Charlie!”_  Dee’s screeching reached a pitch he previously thought only possible by cats. “ _Goddamnit!_ ”

“What are you talking about?” Charlie put the phone on speaker and set it on Mac’s couch; his arm was sore for some reason and he thought he might have to puke again very soon.

“ _Frank and Dennis can’t get Bill’s alibi! He swears he wasn’t there when his wife died but he won’t tell them where he was and they’re all ‘you wanna help, Dee? You wanna be a real lawyer Dee?” They said I could convince him with my feminine wiles._ ” She sucked in a giant gulp of air, becoming nonsensical. Mac stepped back and closed his front door, intrigued by the chaos spitting out of Charlie’s phone. _“But he’s not in Philly, they’re keeping him way out in the jail by Pittsburgh. I tried to go last night but they only have visiting hours during the day like a bunch of boners and only attorneys can go in at other times and Dennis knows that and he knows I can't!"_

“SCI Pittsburgh?” Mac piped up. There was a frazzled, confused pause as Dee tried and failed to place his voice.

_“...Yeah. Sure.”_

“My dad’s been in and out of there since I was a kid,” Mac told Charlie. “It’s a fucking _hike_.”

_“It’s five hours away. Oh goddammit, I’m so screwed.”_

“I don’t understand,” Charlie said. _Of course you don’t,_ a nasty little voice piped up in his head.

 _“Charlie, it’s Saturday.”_ A pause. _“Saturday the 11th?_ ” Nothing. _“Goddammit! Charlie, I’m supposed to sit for the bar today!”_

“Oh. Shit.”

 _“Pennsylvania isn’t holding another exam until July! I can’t go back to the firm without the alibi, they’ll never let me help again, and I can’t drive all the way out there because I won’t be back to take the bar in time.”_ Something warbled in her voice. Something tugged at Charlie’s stomach.

"Is this why you wouldn't hang out with me last night?"

Dee took another wobbling breath and made a sound suspiciously like she was gagging again. _"Yeah, Charlie. Goddammit. I was a little preoccupied."_

“We can do it,” he blurted out. Mac’s eyebrows went up again.

“What?” He and Dee asked at the same time. Charlie shrugged.

“We can go get Bill's alibi. Yeah, Mac knows the way, we can talk to him.”

“Strike the fear of God into him.” Mac pounded his fist against his palm. Charlie raised an eyebrow.

“You realize he’s our client, right?”

“ _Uh, yeah, okay, whatever,_ ” Dee said. “ _Just- I have to go. Don’t tell my family you did this_.”

“Good luck on your test!” Charlie called, but Dee already hung up. He looked up at Mac. “Hey, do you have a car?”


	9. Chapter 9

“Thanks for skipping your shift.” Charlie said as they pushed open the doors of the prison's waiting room. Mac waved him off. 

“It’s a dumb job anyway. Carmen, my boss, is always like “ _stop saying ‘what’s up bitches’ when you answer the phone”_ and “ _stop telling customers they’re ‘keeping it tight.’”_ Those beefcakes put a lot of work into their bodies, okay? I am just paying them the respect they deserve.” 

“Who are you here for?” The woman on the other side of the glass sign-in window asked, montonous and bored. 

“Bill Ponderosa? I am Charles Kelly, I’m a member of his defense team? Charles Kelly, esquire.” Charlie knew his voice was stilited, overly formal. He just didn’t know how to adjust.

“Can I see your bar card?”

He turned to look back at Mac. “Why does everyone want my ID? Dude, I’m not even gonna drink in there.”

“She means your lawyer card, dumbass. It’s like a driver’s license,” Mac said.

“Oh. I don’t have one.”

The woman picked up a pen and went back to her crossword puzzle. “Then you’re not coming in.”

“Wait, shit.” Mac pushed forward. “Can I see my dad? Luther McDonald, we’re here to see him. Yeah.”

The woman stared at him blankly for ten full seconds before heaving herself around in her chair to the computer. “What’s his ID number?”

“702129708.” Mac said, with a confidence and speed that alarmed Charlie. “I’m on his list, Ronald McDonald. _Shut up.”_  he snapped as an incredulous, delighted grin spread across Charlie's face.

They didn’t talk to the prisoners through glass panes like in the movies, Mac told him as they put on name tags and walked through security. Instead, they sat in a large visitor’s room with a stripe of red painted down the middle of the floor, and rows of chairs on either side of the line.

“Don’t try to cross it, the guards will tackle you,” Mac warned as they sat down and prisoners filed in from a hallway on the other side of room. “Even if you’re only eight.”

“Jesus Christ, Ronald.” Charlie covered his face as Mac brandished his fist at him again. “Joke! Joke, dude.”

“Which one is this Bill guy, again?” Mac shoved his fists into the pockets of his pants. His eyes were scanning the crowd for his dad. Charlie stood up and pointed at the lumpy, graying man in a blue jumpsuit he recognized from TV and the pictures in the newspaper.

“Him. Mr. Ponderosa! Over here!”

Bill stumbled forward, looking bewildered, towards the chair across from Mac and Charlie.

“Who are you?” He asked, by way of greeting. “Where’s Frank?”  

“Frank...sent us. I’m Charlie Kelly, this is my associate R-”

“I’m Mac.” Mac pressed down on Charlie’s sneaker with his boot, crushing his toes.

“Ow! What the hell? Was that professional, Mac? Was that what people who are almost thirty do?”

Bill frowned. “You from South Philly?”

Mac and Charlie exchanged a glance, confused. Charlie crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, what of it?”

To his surprise, Bill chuckled. “I can tell by your accent. I spent a lot of time down there in high school.” He leaned back in his chair, resting his cuffed hands in his lap, an amused expression flickering on his tired face. “Where you from, Circular Drive? Bennett Street?”

Charlie shifted in his chair. “That’s where my mom lives.”

Bill grinned. “Man, you guys do not fuck around with your speed down there. Wow. Jesus. A lawyer from Bennett Street.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Thank God one of you has a brain.” 

“Mr. Ponderosa, we’re actually here to talk to you about your alibi.” Charlie said. The easy expression on Bill’s face hardened.

“Oh. Right. That shit. Look, I told Frank and his queer son that I didn’t kill Jane. I just can’t tell them where I was.”

Mac frowned. “Wait, what about his son?”

Charlie held up a hand. “You can tell me, man. No judgement. Attorney-client privlege.”

Bill glanced over his shoulder and leaned in. “Look, Jane was a bitch, but I didn’t bash her head in.”

“Then where were you?”

Bill tilted his head and squinted at Charlie. “Okay. If I tell you, you guys gotta cover my ass.”

“Yeah, sure.” Mac was standing half out of his seat, looking at someone in the distance. “Shit dude, I think I see my dad, I’m gonna go sit over there.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Charlie waved him off and leaned towards Bill. “Yeah Bill, I promise.”

Bill shrugged. “The night Jane got whacked I was in a crackhouse down on Lupine. I was coked out of my mind with this chick Roxie, and when I was coming down someone called and told me Jane croaked.”

“Oh. Well, why can’t you tell them that? Being on drugs isn’t as bad as murdering a lady, Bill.”

“Fuck, you don’t get it.” Bill’s head dropped into his hands. “I already got two strikes on the drug front. If they find out about strike three, I will get locked up for the rest of my life anyway, and all my money goes to my shitty kids.” He blew his hair out of his face, his forehead shiny with sweat. “If you can prove I didn’t kill Jane, I’m walking free and those little brats get squat.”

“Wow. You’re a terrible human being.”

Bill shrugged. “Like I care.” He lifted his head. “But I like you, Bennett Street. You think you’re a good enough lawyer to find a way out of this for me?”

Charlie fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “Well, damn. I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Swear?”

“Swear.”

* * *

“So this is still a thing we’re doing?” Mac asked as he pulled back onto the highway. “Like, you’re still doing this lawyer thing, even though that girl doesn’t…” _Want you. Love you._

Charlie let his head drop against the glass. His hangover hadn’t faded; in fact, the longer he was awake the more dehydrated he felt. “I’m doing it because I want to.”

“Okay.”

“No one thinks I can do anything.”

“Hey, what was that guy saying about Dennis being queer? I thought he had a kid?”

“I dunno, maybe he’s into dick too.” Charlie closed his eyes.

Mac blinked. “That...that’s a thing?”

“Probably. I can draw with both hands. Hey, can you take me to Reynolds & Reynolds when we get back to Philly? I wanna tell them I got the alibi.”

“An alibi that you’re not gonna tell them.”

Charlie yawned. “Frank’s cool. He’ll understand.”

* * *

Frank did not understand.

“What the shit are you talking about?” He yelled, pacing around the long, mahogany table in the R&R confrence room. “You gotta tell us.”

“I can’t. He made me promise. He didn’t do it though, swear to God.”

Dennis groaned and buried his face in both of his palms. “I don’t _believe_ in God. I do believe you’re being fucking difficult. And where the fuck is Dee? She was the one who was supposed to do this shit.”

Charlie picked at his ear. “She had a thing.”

“Okay, Charlie.” Frank stilled and sat down in the chair next to him. “I think I see what this is. You want a little something for your troubles.”

“Ahh.” Dennis nodded. “A little tit for tat, huh?”

"Say, one of the internships I'm doling out?" Frank waggled his eyebrows.

“You’d...give me one of those?” Charlie grinned. “Yeah, man. I’ll be one of your interns. Sounds sweet.”

“Great.” Frank pressed his lips together in a twisted fascimile of a smile. “So, in exchange, could you tell us what Bill’s alibi is?”

Charlie huffed out of his nose. “Man, I...can’t.”

Dennis smacked a hand against the table. “Goddammit.”

“I promised him! I made a sacred vow as an attorney of the law-”

“You’re not a fucking attorney!” Dennis snapped. “And who is this man standing in the corner? What is his purpose?”

Mac, his back to the closed doors, raised his hand in greeting. “I’m Mac, I drove Charlie here. I-I work at the club you go to, sometimes?” Dennis stared at him blankly. “I mean, you come sometimes, I work there everytime. Every day. It’s stupid.”

Frank rubbed the shiny patch of skin above his forehead. “Dennis, get these goddamn idiots out. And find out where the hell Deandra is, maybe she can talk some sense into them.”

“She’s not answering her phone.” Dennis said sullenly.

“You’re twins. Use your, whatsit-” Frank’s hand fluttered above his head. "Your mind powers."

“That’s not a real thing, Frank. I’ve told you so many times, that was just a movie you saw.” Dennis pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is the first night in three days I don't have Brian, I’m gonna go get drunk. Make Dee’s boyfriend find her.”

“Dee has a boyfriend?” Charlie blurted out. Frank, Mac, and Dennis all looked at him with incredulous expressions. “What?”

Mac clicked his tongue and slung an arm around Charlie again. “Come on, man, we’re getting out of here.” He turned over his shoulder and made a strange head-jerk motion towards Dennis. “See you. See you later. The club's open 'til 2.”

Night crept across the sky as they left the firm. Mac went to start his shift, badly hiding his eagerness at the idea of running into Dennis twice in a day, but Charlie didn’t feel like joining him. He was still vaguely nauseous from all the drinking the night before. He considered going to campus and finding a quiet place to listen to his recordings again, but for the first time in memory, he dreaded the idea of running into the Waitress. So instead he walked back to his apartment, exhausted from nearly ten hours of driving and his head stuffed full with too many moving thoughts.

He trudged up three flights of stairs to apartment 31, and by the time he reached his hallway he was so shaky and out of breath he didn’t even notice his door was unlocked.

That is, until he flicked on the light switch and saw a figure hunched over on his bed.

“NIGHTMAN!!” He picked up an empty beer can balancing on the radiator next to the doorway and whipped it at the figure. It ducked and let out a pitful little yelp. Charlie took a step back.

It was Dee, perching on the edge of his futon, drinking white wine directly from the bottle. Her hair was tied in a messy yellow knot on the top of her head.

“How the hell did you get in here?” He screeched.

“This building isn’t friggin’ Fort Knox.” She said dully. “I think it’s technically condemned.”

 _“Why?”_ He was still yelling, though his heartbeat slowed down. He never did well with people in his digs.

To his horror, Dee’s lip trembled. “I freaked. I puked in the trashcan three times. It’s all kind of a blur. Goddamn it. Goddamn, I blew it again.” She tipped her head back and blinked.

“Oh shit, at the bar?”

She nodded. “I didn’t want to go back to the apartment, I didn’t want to look at Dennis’ smug face.”

Charlie sat down next to her, the rusty springs creaking with his movement. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, I’m serious, that shit sucks. Tests are... the worst. Did they give you an F?”

Dee shrugged and took another drink. “I dunno. They take a couple weeks to send the results out.”

“So?” Charlie nudged her with his shoulder. “That’s good, you still could’ve passed.”

“Whatever.” She shook her head. “How’d the Ponderosa thing go?”

"I got the alibi.”

“Shit, you _did?_ ” Dee scrambled up onto her knees.

“Yeah, Frank gave me one of the internship spots.” Charlie decided to leave out the part about how Frank kicked him out yelling for not actually sharing it. But Dee still didn’t look happy. Her shoulders slumped and she fell back on her heels.

“How are you doing this, Charlie?” She asked. “How is this stuff so goddamn easy for everyone else?”

Charlie considered her, all tucked up and pathetic. Despite his own roiling stomach and the $3 he had under the couch cushion, he heard himself say-

“Do you wanna go get drunk?"

Dee didn't look up until a few seconds of awkward silence built. "Are you talking to me?"

"Nothing ever seems so bad when you're blasted."

She considered this. "Yeah, okay."

* * *

A line of ten or fifteen people was already winding around the club when they showed up, but Mac, dropping a undergrads ID as soon as he caught sight of Charlie, waved them madly to the front.

"Hey asshole!" He said as Charlie drew near enough to hear. "I tried your stupid idea."

"My what?”

“Your stupid flexing idea!” Mac hissed, his cheeks coloring.

“Oh, right. What happened?"

Mac crossed his arms more tightly over his chest. "I punched him."

"You _what?"_

"So I was trying to show off my lunges, right? And he thought I was keeling over or some shit and he put his hand on my neck and my self defense training kicked in."

"Oh shit." Charlie pressed his lips together to keep them from quirking upward. Mac glared.

"It's not funny! His face is gonna get all weird and bruised!"

"Some guys like it rough." Dee offered. Mac jumped, noticing her for the first time.

"Oh shit, are you the girl?"

Dee frowned. "What girl?"

"The one he's in love with. Finally wore her down, huh?"

"No!" For some reason, Charlie's stomach felt funny talking about The Waitress in front of Dee, like someone had dropped a heavy weight into it. She and Mac both glanced at him, startled by his outburst. He swallowed. "No, this is Dee, we work together, at my internship." He liked the way that sounded. Much more impressive than _this is my teacher even though we're the same age._

"Oh, right. Dee from the phone. Fancy shit." Mac rolled his eyes. "Fine, go drink. I'm still mad at you, though."

"You know, once I tripped down a flight of stairs at the guy I was dating's apartment.” Dee blurted out. “And he stayed with me another week out of guilt."

Mac's eyebrows loosened a little. "Really?"

Charlie hooked his hand through Dee's elbow and dragged her through the door.

"Who was that?" She asked.

"My friend Mac. He has a crush on your brother."

Dee scrunched up her nose. "Great. Just what Dennis needs, people feeding his ego from both genders. God, I hope he's not still here."

They got a table right next to the stage, where a band of Penn freshmen were strumming out some god-awful cover of a Leonard Cohen song. Charlie winced.  

"What?" Dee asked, setting two pitchers of beer carefully on the table, even though it was already sticky.

"The guitar is out of tune." He said, jerking his head towards the stage. "Listen, he's flat on the Gs."

Dee paused, but after moment only shook her head. "It sounds fine to me."

" _How_ _?_ Are you deaf? It's driving me crazy."

"Charlie,” Dee asked slowly, eyebrows raised. “Do you have perfect pitch?"

He shrugged, taking a sip from the heavy glass tankard. "I dunno. What's that?"

Dee snorted and took a swig from her own beer. "You're the weirdest person I've met in my goddamn life."

"Yeah, probably." He tapped his sneakers against the floor, with the beat. Dee flipped her hair over one shoulder.

"So how’s it going with that girl that - Max?"

"Mac."

"-Was talking about? Your grand plan to put a baby in her or whatever."

There it was again. That weird, uncomfortable weight in the pit of his stomach. What was happening? The Waitress was his favorite subject, normally. Maybe he was still ticked at her about calling him stupid yesterday. He planted both his hands on the table and pushed himself into standing.

"Dude, I gotta go fix that guitar." He could feel Dee's confused eyes on his neck as he headed for the stage.

The night progressed. One beer turned into two turned into four. Charlie’s face started to heat up, and his shoulders felt loose. Dee got up from the table and started flopping back and forth with the music. Charlie watched, her white sweater riding up on her stomach, and laughed.

“Dee, is that supposed to be _dancing_ _?”_

“Uh-huh. I’m just rolling with the music, Charlie. _Rollin’ with the music_.” She flopped to the side, rediculous and sweaty, but much more cheerful than he found her a few hours before. “C’mon, roll with me.”

She grabbed his hand without asking and shook his arm so he rolled with her. He laughed, even as she turned unevenly and bumped her hip against his stomach. The band switched to some 80s power-ballad that Charlie vaguely remembered from childhood, and the club started to slow around them, couples linking up and draping themselves around each other.

Charlie and Dee looked at each other for a minute, swaying awkwardly to the pace of the previous song. Dee started laughing, lifting her hands up in faux-surrender.

“We should sit down.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Charlie nodded, rubbing the uneven shorn on the back of his neck. Neither of them moved.

“Fuck it.” Dee slung her arms around his neck and started moving at the slower pace. She was so much taller than Charlie; he could feel people glancing over and smirking at the tableau. He reached out and grabbed her hips, maybe a little bit too hard.

“Let me ask you something.” Dee asked. “Why her?”

“The Waitress?”

“Yeah. What was so special about her?”

Charlie drummed his fingers against the fabric at the top of her jeans. “When I was seventeen, the principal called my mom and told her that I wasn’t gonna graduate high school. I mean, I knew I wasn’t, I skipped all the time, I was always high, I can't...” He shrugged. “But for some reason it really pissed me off that they told me I couldn’t, you know?”

Dee nodded.

“So I ran into the front office and started shouting about seeing the bitch principal, and I...I lost it a little bit. Started breaking shit, trying to bite people. It’s fuzzy, you know? It’s fuzzy.” He swallowed. “She was in my grade, she worked in the office sometimes after school. And she didn’t call the cops or anything. She just sat down on this bench. And she gave me a cookie she had left over from lunch and she...she calmed me down. She got everything to stop being fuzzy, for a little while.” He grabbed his tie and pulled it down, loosening it. “She’s the only person who's ever been able to do that.”

Dee stared at him for a moment before realizing that was the end of the story. Her eyebrows hiked up. “Well, that’s stupid.”

“What?”

“You’re not that kid anymore, Charlie. You're an adult man. If things are fuzzy, get glasses. She's not the answer to all your problems.” She rolled her eyes. “This world is shit and you can only depend on yourself.”

“I know.” He said, surprised at how quiet his voice came out. "You're right." He tried, a little louder.

Dee leaned forward, into him, her warm arm rubbing against his neck, and he didn’t feel so embarrassed by their height difference. Not with Dee pressing closer and closer against him, her expression glazing over with faint curiosity. Her hand slid up the back of his neck into his hair.

It was a move that said _fuck it._  It was a move that said _I won’t tell anyone if you don’t._

Their noses bumped together a few times before they got the angle right, and Dee Reynolds was kissing him. On purpose. In public.   


	10. Chapter 10

He got his hands up into Dee’s hair, a heady, warm feeling filling his chest. Dee pressed forward, not breaking the kiss, and walked Charlie backwards off the dance floor, up against the wall. She rubbed her knee against in his inner thigh and the warm feeling in his chest started to spread.

He bet the people snickering earlier were getting a kick out of this too, seeing him backed into a corner, boxed under Dee like a little bitch. But he couldn't bring himself to care too deeply. The bright lights swirling around in his booze-blurred eyes made him feel giddy, kissing the second-prettiest girl in his world.

And then Dee grabbed both his wrists and pinned them against the wall, on either side of his head.

There was no set rules for what made it happen. He wished that there was, like the checklist his mom used to go through before he left for school - _don’t forget to put on your shoes and tap the front steps three times, Charlie_ \- because then he could avoid this. But it could be anything. Anything in the wide spectrum of touching and glances and feelings could make the cold, wet panic rise up in him.

 _No. No, no, no, shut it down._ Reflexively, his leg jerked up and he kneed her in the stomach, hard. Dee swore and recoiled, letting go of his wrists.

“Charlie, what the fuck?” She rubbed her abdomen. “That hurt!”

“Um-” He exhaled hard through the nose, his heart still pounding. Shit, he was going to have to tell her. “Okay, here’s the thing. And-and we’re gonna laugh about this.”

“Oh God.” Dee face became stricken. "You’ve got a micropenis, don’t you?”

“What? No, gross. No.” He licked his lips. “I’ve never actually done this before.”

“What, a one-night stand?” Dee asked. She reached down and fidgeted with the button on his jeans. He whacked her hand away and closed his eyes, preparing for the detonation.

“...sex.”

Dee scoffed. Then Charlie heard a pause as she realized he wasn’t kidding. Then - “You’re twenty-five.”

“So? That’s a lightbulb. That’s a chair.” Charlie opened his eyes. He could feel himself blushing. “Are-are we just stating facts?”

“Goddamnit, are you gay?” Dee groaned and let her head drop back against the top of her spine. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

“No.” Now the kid playing the keyboard was off, going a half-beat faster than the rest of the band. Charlie wanted to beat him to death with the Cassio. “I just...it’s not easy, okay?” The lights were hurting his eyes now, the club turning into a grotesque funhouse around him.

“Am I not _pretty_ enough for you? Fuck you!” The defensive, nasty edge was coming back into her voice. She wrapped her arms around her own chest, an unwittingly pathetic gesture. “Because it’s not like you’re Chase Utley. You smell weird, and you’re short-”

“Jesus Christ- I’m five-five, okay? That it a normal adult height, I don't know why everyone always-” Charlie cut himself off. “Look, I have some important stuff I have to do. You know. Internship stuff. Can we- I’m just gonna head home. This-this was fun.”

“Charlie-” Dee tried again. She stepped forward and he flinched, holding both hands out in front of him.

“I’ll see you later, okay? I just…” He gave up trying to finish the sentence and darted away, out of the club, past Mac who yelled something crude and teasing, down the street for block after block until he couldn’t hear the music from the club anymore. He rubbed his wrists and tried to make his face cool down.

The phone Dee gave him started ringing in his pocket, but he didn’t answer it.

* * *

Frank posted a list with the other two interns the next morning; Brad and The Waitress. They squealed and wrapped each other in a tight embrace right outside the classroom door, but it didn’t make Charlie as upset as it might have a few days ago. When The Waitress saw the name _Charlie Kelly_ printed right underneath her own, her face lost a little color. But when she turned to confront him what the hell this was, he just cut his eyes away and walked out of the building.

He skipped class for the rest of the week. He didn’t want to see her and he didn’t want to see Dee.

He still wasn’t answering the latter’s calls and voice messages, and they soon began to peter down from several times an hour, to a few times a day, to silence. Whatever. He didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t here for her, anyway. He never had been. He had the trial to focus on.

The next few days passed in a manic haze after Bill was arraigned, pleading not guilty. Usually a few months separated it from the actual trial, but the court had put a rush on the proceedings as Bill’s two children were wards of the state. Charlie surprised even himself when he explained this to Mac. It was amazing, what was sticking from all his boring audiotapes.

Of course, trial preparation presented it’s own challenges. On top of his tapes and the classes he attended sporadically at best, he, Brad and The Waitress found themselves working only into the night, or early in the morning before school.

Mostly, they were sent out to get coffee or Chinese take-out for Dennis and Frank. Brad complained about this, but Charlie didn’t mind; he preferred it to all the reading he saw the Reynolds’ men do. Once he fixed Frank’s office chair and Frank called him a good kid.

Every few hours, though, he or Dennis would corner him and demand Bill’s alibi, and Charlie would refuse and find away to slip away. The Waitress kept finding herself at Frank’s side, handling his papers while he leered down her shirts. It made Charlie’s blood heat up, even before he saw Brad, swallowing uncomfortably at the scene, lean over to whisper in her ear.

“Hey. Charlie.” Dennis dropped a stack of paper the size of his head on the table in front of him. “Give me a summary of this by tonight.”

Charlie scrunched up his face. “Ew, what is this?”

“Well, it’s our stenographer’s notes, Charlie.” Dennis said wearily. “From the two fucking hours Frank spent interviewing Bill today, because you will not _give us the fucking alibi.”_

“Aw, shit.” Charlie said tilting his head to look at thickness of the stack from the side. “That sucks.”

Dennis pinched the bridge of his nose. “So unless you want to actually be useful, comb through that and tell me if there’s anything helpful in that shit.” He reached up to rub his face and then froze, thinking better of it. Charlie knew why; earlier, he saw Dennis in the men’s room putting concealer on an angry red bruise under his left eye; Mac had really packed a wallop.

Charlie picked up the transcript and brought it to the little office Frank crammed the three interns in. It was a quarter the size of his own, and they shared it with a desktop computer, printer/fax machine, and half a dozen old mops. He leaned over the first page, so close his nose was almost touching the paper. The letters got a little bit clearer, but they still swam and flipped back and forth.

“Goddamit.” He hissed under his breath, throwing himself back against the swivel chair. “I’m gonna lose this fucking job.”

“Hey? Charlie?” He jumped. Brad was standing in the doorway, holding a cardboard drink holder with one coffee still in the sleeve.

“Shit. Um, hi.” Charlie closed his fist and tapped it against the paper. “Just working on some law stuff. Dennis delegated it to me.”

“Oh.” Brad nodded, a little crestfallen. “Okay.”

Charlie nodded to the coffee. “Hey, is that for me?”

“What? Oh, no. Frank sent me to get coffee again and then I came back and he asked if she wanted one and…” Discomfort flitted across Brad’s face. He shrugged, rubbing his upper bicep with his hand. “You know Frank likes her best.”

“Really? I don’t know, I felt like him and me have a certain rapport.”

Brad rolled his eyes. “Sure. I just...I’m happy for her and everything, I just want to make myself useful, you know?”

“You’re really smart, I bet it’s fine.” Once while they were waiting outside the firm for the front door to be unlocked, Charlie saw Brad pull a book out of his bag and read it while leaning against the side of the building. It wasn’t even related to the case; he was reading it for fun.

But Brad didn’t look convinced. “I hope so. Even if I don’t have tits for Frank to stare at.” He fell silent and Charlie had no choice but to turn back to the papers, eyes fixed in place, pretending to understand it. He could feel Brad’s eyes on his neck for a few seconds before the sensation became unbearable.

“Jesus, _what?”_ He snapped, looking up.

“Do you…” Brad spread his hand wide and waved his palm at the stack of papers. “Can I show you something?”

Charlie’s eyebrows crinkled. “What?”

Brad plucked the top piece of paper off the stack and scanned it on the fax machine. He leaned over Charlie, fingers tapping against the keyboard for a minute before he backed up, triumphant, and punched the enter key.

A tinny, robotic voice piped up from the computer, reading each word from the document, now a PDF on the screen. Each line lit up an almost blinding yellow as it progressed. Charlie leapt up in shock.

“Holy shit!”

Brad laughed. But it wasn’t a mean laugh. “It’s Dragon. It’s for blind people, but most computers have it installed. It’s awesome, right?”

Charlie back sat down hard in the swivel chair, which twisted a little under the force. They looked at each other, and Charlie could tell they were both waiting for him to ask the question. _Does everyone know?_

Instead he said, begrudgingly, “Well, thanks, man.”

Brad smiled, just a little, and sat down next to him. “Let’s see what the wife killer has to say.”

They listened to a robotic version of Bill ramble and joke with Frank for fifteen minutes. Charlie got up and scanned the pages one by one, and Brad took diligent notes on a legal pad, even though nothing of import was coming out of it. In the hallway, Charlie started to hear rapid footsteps, followed by high-pitched babbling. They both turned to the open door as a tow-headed little boy toddled into the frame, banging his head against the edge.

“Whoa.” Brad said.

“ _Brian_. Goddammit, get back here!” Moments later, Dennis was three steps inside; he was the kind of person, it seemed to Charlie, who would never even consider that he might be unwelcome in a room. He reached down and scooped up his toddler, who had start to inhale in preparation for a scream, his lips turning purple. “Jesus, Mandy gave you sugar today, didn’t she?” He looked at Charlie and Brad, raising his voice as Brian started to wail. “Where’s the girl? Aren’t they supposed to be good with babies?”

“Your dad wanted her in his office.” Brad said, unable to hide the sourness in his tone.

“Great.” Dennis flinched as Brian’s crying continued, right by his ear. “Buddy, calm down. Brad, you’re coming with me to the crime scene.”

“What? Why?” Brad brightened, standing up and stepping in front of Charlie.

“Apparently the pictures Artemis took for the evidence files were weird and artsy and we can’t see shit. Okay, you wanna go down? Fine, be down.” He set Brian on the floor, where he made a beeline for Charlie’s chair.

“I took a photography class in undergrad.” Brad said. Dennis served him a withering stare.

“I’m an excellent photographer, Bradley. I just need someone to sit in the car with Brian. Oh my God, _shut up_.” Still crying, Brian started to bang his tiny fists against the arm of Charlie’s chair. Without thinking, Charlie picked him up and sat him his lap.

“Hey little dude, it’s all good. Calm down.” He started bouncing his leg and Brian, miraculously, stopping crying. “Hey, there we go.” He looked up, grinning at Brad, but he had gone ashen.

Dennis pointed finger guns at Charlie. “Okay. Change of plans. You’re coming.”

* * *

Dennis drove exactly the kind of car Charlie would have guessed he did; massive, expensive, and unwieldy. Charlie sat in the backseat of the Range Rover with Brian, strapped into his carseat and playing with a Barbie whose hair was a wild, tangled mess.

“Mandy’s mom just got emergency back surgery, so she flew home to deal with that and dropped him on me like, fifteen minutes ago.” Dennis said, giving himself a last look in the mirror before flipping it up and starting the car. “It’s like, yeah, sure, Mand, let’s all just jet off to North Dakota for a week. It’s not like some of us are balls-deep in their first goddamn murder trial. She was all ‘ _Caylee doesn’t want to babysit on your days anymore, she says you make her uncomfortable_.’ As if.”

“So you two aren’t like, married?”

Dennis let out a thin, barking laugh. “No. No way. Why would we be?”

Charlie pointed at Brian. To his surprise, Dennis scoffed.

“C’mon, man. Brian’s my guy. Doesn’t mean I had to stick with her too. A man shouldn’t have to be miserable because of something that happened when he was a kid.”

“Yeah.” Charlie said. “I guess.”

Yellow crime scene tape wrapped around the perimeter of the Ponderosa house and crisscrossed across the front door. Dennis rolled down the windows and parked half on the front lawn. “Stay here. Don’t break anything.” He said.

“Are you talking to me or the baby?”

Dennis turned and walked towards the house, ducking under the tape.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Brian fussed and Charlie took him out of his seat and jiggled him a little. He could see the edge of the stone patio sticking out from the back of the house. A large tree arched over the same side of the roof, giving the illusion it was swallowing the building. Fifteen minutes turned into twenty. Brian squirmed in his arms, cabin fever gripping him. Charlie opened the back door and shifted Brian onto his hip.

“Okay buddy, let’s go for a walk.”

He watched the flash of Dennis’ camera as he wandered around the living room. He waited until the flashing faded, Dennis walking deeper into the house, before stepping out onto the lawn, and under the tree branches for a closer look.

A rusty red spot stained the stone, five feet from the sliding glass doors back into the house. That must be where Jane met her end. The heavy branches of the tree almost brushed the ground. Just above his head, something rustled. Brian whimpered and Charlie looked up.

His heart lifted. The branches were crowded with sleeping birds, a few gently cooing. Charlie grinned.

“Shit, check that out.” He held Brian tighter to his side, and reached for a bare part of the branch with his free arm, pulling them both up. "Let's get a bird's-eye view." He chuckled as the birds started to squawk and dart off their branches, flying like bullets towards the lawn and pavement. "I just got that."

Higher and higher he climbed, Brian babbling against his arm, until the branches got too thin to support his weight. Charlie turned to the side, distracted by the fluttering of a chickadee in the corner of his eye. Right above it, though, where the tree started to push into the side of the house, was a square window, about the size of Brian. It was open, the pane pushed up inside the house. There was no screen.

“Weird.” Charlie reached out, almost put his hand through the frame, into the house, when-

“What the _fuck_ are you _doing_?”

Charlie looked down towards the noise. Dennis was standing at the base of the tree, veins throbbing in his face.

“Dada!” Brian squealed.

“Get my son down from the twenty-five foot fucking tree or so help me God I will hold your head in the Schuylkill River until there are no more bubbles. No more bubbles, I say!”

“Okay, keep your shirt on.” Charlie said, slowly dropping down to lower branches.

“Don’t tell me what to do with my shirt!” Dennis snapped. He yanked Brian out of Charlie’s arms as soon as they hit the ground. “Jesus Christ, are you high?”

“Not more than usual. Hey man, what’s the deal with the window up there?” Charlie asked.

“What? What are you talking about? It’s a big house, there’s upwards of thirty windows! Get your ass back in the car, we’re going back to work.” He held Brian, who was fussing again, babbling a string of English and gibberish, against his chest. “I swear, I don’t know how Dee puts up with you.”

Charlie stopped walking, half in the street. “Dee? What did Dee say?”

“She didn’t say anything. She just walks around the apartment badly singing and stealing my good lip stain.” Dennis bent into the car to buckle Brian in. “Who cares? Just stop climbing trees you moron.”

Charlie slid into the seat next to Brian. He kind of missed the days when his head wasn’t so full.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a handful of canon-typical slurs, because Frank is Frank.

Emily and Bobby Ponderosa wore expensive clothes and matching scowls.

Charlie met them for the first time two days after examining their condemned house. Emily was eleven; Bobby, fourteen. They technically belonged to the state of Pennsylvania, what with their dad in jail and their mom being dead, but Frank had arranged for them to stay with their Aunt Maureen, Bill’s younger sister. Her apartment was noticeably less fancy than the mansion the kids were clearly used to.

While the interns crowded onto the patchy loveseat opposite them, Emily kept kicking her heels against the bottom of the couch and at several points Bobby got up to go the bathroom, and returned with fresh lip gloss glistening.

“Are you seeing this?” Charlie asked Brad under his breath.

Brad didn’t take his eyes off the phone recording on the coffee table. “What?”

Charlie jerked his head towards the kids. “Dee and Dennis 2.0.”

Brad’s eyes flicked up, once, twice. He pressed his lips into a thin to keep from smirking. _“Shhhh.”_

“Why do we have to do this _again?”_  Emily asked, tossing her red hair behind her shoulder. “Couldn’t you dumbasses talk to the police?”

The Waitress pressed the eraser of her pencil against the side of her temple. “Frank thinks you might have something else to tell us.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, looking ridiculously put-upon, even under the circumstances. “Like what?”

She and Brad exchanged a glance. She continued carefully. “Maybe something you didn’t understand when you called 911 but now that you’ve calmed down-”

“This bitch wants us to lie, Bobby.” Emily said.

“Hey!” Charlie snapped, mostly on reflex. Brad jumped, and both kids eyed him warily, possibly noticing his existence for the first time; The Waitress and Brad both looked like a gray suit catalogue threw up on them, and Charlie still had his jeans and black windbreaker on. It’s not like anyone told him they were supposed to dress up.

“What’s _his_ problem?” Bobby murmured to Emily.

“So you told the police you heard a thud, came up from the basement, and your mother was lying on the patio-” Brad tried to steer the conversation back into civility. Charlie clenched both his fists and pressed his knuckles down hard on his thighs. “-but there were no blunt objects found at the scene.”

“Yup.” Emily said.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, right. Em, we forgot about that giant bloody axe right next to Mom.” Bobby said. Charlie clocked the sarcasm not a second too soon. Jesus, no wonder Dennis hated talking to these kids.

“Okay, I’m out.” Charlie said, standing up and tucking the legal pad he had been doodling on under his arm. The Waitress rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Frank’ll really love that.”

Charlie shrugged. "He could've done this himself." He dug his phone out of his pocket and pressed the explosion emoji that designated Mac’s phone number as he walked out of the apartment.

“Hey, can you come pick me up?”

Mac hesitated for a long moment. In the background, Charlie could hear heavy breathing. “Uh, yeah. Sure dude. Give me a minute.”

But it wasn’t Mac’s banged-up old Hatchback that rolled to a stop in front of Maureen Ponderosa’s apartment ten minutes later; it was Dennis Reynolds’ shiny black Range Rover.

The man himself looked down at Charlie sitting on the curb with vague annoyance. The buttons on the front of his shirt were done up crookedly. In the passenger’s seat, badly trying to pretend his face wasn’t flushed bright red, was Mac. His gelled hair was raked up with abandon and stuck out at awkward angles.

Mac raised a hand in greeting but didn’t wave it, cringing down at his lap. “Hey man.”

Charlie’s eyebrows popped into his hairline. “Oh, _hello._ Having fun?”

Dennis rolled his eyes. Mac went crimson. “Shut the fuck up, man.” He hissed, like Dennis wasn’t directly in between them and hearing every world. “Dennis and I-we ran into each other at the Wawa and I was like, _Hey man, sorry I decked you_ , and he was like _Buy me this six pack and we’ll call it even_ -”

“You don’t have to explain to him.” Dennis said abruptly. As Charlie climbed into the backseat he saw Dennis reach over and touch Mac’s arm lightly. “Did Frank send you to talk to the brats?”

Charlie nodded. One of Brian’s toy trucks was on the seat underneath him, digging into his leg. Dennis clucked his tongue.

“Couldn’t get anything out of them, huh? Better men than you have tried.” Dennis ran through a stop sign, the car he cut off honking angrily. “Are Brad and the girl still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Dennis glanced over at Mac. Charlie pretended he couldn’t see Dennis sneaking his hand down off of Mac’s arm onto his thigh. “I’m gonna drop you back at the firm, tell Frank I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He squeezed Mac’s thigh and Mac tried and failed to stifle the little yelp. “You like that?” Dennis asked, low and husky.

Charlie opened his door in moving traffic. “You know what? I’m good. I’m just gonna walk.”

Charlie took so long to get back to the firm - he always had trouble with street signs, especially when it started to get dark - he wasn't surprised to see Dennis’ car in the parking lot, having beat him there by God knows how long. Something told him Mac probably didn’t have a tremendous amount of stamina.

At night, the firm was so dead sometimes the only person Charlie ran into was Alison, the night janitor (She was about his mother’s age and would always make jerk-off motions when Frank walked by. He really liked her). Today, though, he took the smooth elevator all the way about to the seventh floor without spotting a soul. The doors pinged open and the whole firm looked dark, too. He craned his head out.

“Dennis?” That fucker, if no one else was working he was going home, getting high, and then maybe tracking down Mac to bust his balls for the rest of the night.

Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by something bumping against the wall. He stepped out of the elevator and turned in the other direction.

Dee pulled herself upright; in her haste to escape, she slammed into the wall.

“Hey.” She said. Her long hair was tied up in a ponytail, which Charlie thought made her look like a horse. But like, a nice horse. She wore jeans and a blue sleeveless shirt, a stack of paper held against her chest by her tightly crossed arms. Charlie turned to look down the empty hall behind him. “I’m talking to you, dumbass.”

He crossed his arms too, mirroring her. “Hey.”

They stared at each other for a minute, gunslingers at high noon. Then Dee groaned.

“Goddammit Charlie, don’t be so weird.”

“How am _I_ being weird?”

“You didn’t have to make up some shit about being a virgin if you didn’t want to sleep with me.” Dee wasn’t done talking, but Charlie rushed at her then, a palm extended, and covered her mouth, stumbling backwards into the empty conference room.

“Jesus _Christ_ dude _,_ what is the matter with you?” He hissed, pushing his hair back. “All you ever do is shout.”

Dee glared and him and licked his palm. Getting no disgusted reaction from him, she whined and jerked away, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. All her papers scattered on the carpet. “You really want to talk shit about other people’s volume?”

“ _What are you talking about_ _?”_ Charlie screeched.

Dee headed for the door. “Screw you for lying to me, just call me a whore or tell me I look like a bird like everyone else. That’s called having class.”

Charlie held out his arms in front of him, limbs locked and angry. “I wasn’t lying!”

Dee rolled her eyes and bent over to start picking up the papers. “Yeah, right.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

Dee straightened up, waving a hand. “You know, you’re...you-you…” She started blinking rapidly, in time with her stammering. “You’re not...hideous, I guess, okay? You can probably play like ten instruments, I don’t know. Girls like musicians.”

“It’s actually just piano. The guy at the drum store said I can’t come in anymore.” Charlie said quietly. Dee didn’t seem to hear him.

“You’re so goddamn weird. But it’s like, fun weird." Dee ducked her head. “Whatever. The point is, there is no way you haven’t had girls after you before.”

 _Before?_ “It’s not like I haven’t wanted to.” He said, glancing over his shoulder at the conference room door, still slightly ajar. “I really wanted to. You were so pretty. I just...have trouble.”

Dee scoffed, the tiniest bit mollified by the compliment. “Why? Did you have a funny uncle?”

Charlie cupped his elbows with the hand from the opposite arm. “I mean, he wasn’t funny like _ha-ha_.” He inhaled, deep, deep, until his lungs hurt. “He always said that it was fun, but I never thought it was fun.”

Dee stopped laughing. She stopped smiling all together. Her eyes widened and bulged out of her face. “Jesus Christ, Charlie. Do you-”

“Stop.” He shook his head. “I swear to God if we keep talking about this, I’m gonna freak out on you Dee. I will freak out.”

Dee sat down hard in the swivel chair at the head of the table, setting down her regathered paper. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” His skin was itchy all over. Something in his brain yelled at him to run away. Instead he hopped up to sit on the table in front of Dee.

“Did you call the police?”

He chuckled without mirth. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll just call the police. They’re _deeply_ invested in what happened to high-school dropouts from South Philly twenty years ago.” Typical rich girl. Everything can be fixed if you only make a call.

Dee winced. “Goddamn.”

“Yeah.” Charlie shrugged. He pressed his pinky finger down on one of the papers and dragged it back and forth on the table.

The chair clattered, bumping up against the side of the table, and Dee was kissing him, leaning over to close the space between them, her hands on his ribs. This time the panic was instantaneous; Charlie, half-crab walking, scrambled backwards.

 _"Why_ would you think that would work? We _just_ talked about this like three seconds ago!”

Dee raised both her hands. “I don’t know, I just thought if you weren’t thinking about it-”

“That’s the stupidest fucking argument I’ve ever heard!” Charlie realized he was still holding himself up on his hands and feet like _The Exorcist_ and dropped down onto his ass.

“Alright, calm down. Don’t be so dramatic.” Dee tinged pink on her collarbone and sat back down. Charlie’s blood buzzed.

“Do you just jump on people? Does that work for you?” He leaned forward. “Do people like it when you’re all-” He wobbled precariously, half-on, half-off the table for a second, before grabbing Dee's biceps to catch himself, pushing her hard against the chair - and leaning down to kiss her again.

Sensation swelled in him, but this time it was warmer, stiller. He saw Dee’s hands reach up to grab his hips on reflex, but he pulled back, out of her reach.

She couldn’t touch him without him seeing it coming.  

They locked eyes.

“You need to be on top.” Dee broke away, breathless.

He let go of her arms and sat back on his heels. “I need to be on top."

“You know, you could come over my apartment when Dennis isn’t around sometime. We can get just shitfaced, keep the lights on. All the stuff that makes you not wig out.”

Charlie considered this. He heard about stuff like this in high school, girls bragging about their boyfriends “taking their flower” on silk sheets with classical music playing. Whenever he thought about doing it with The Waitress, though, he always pictured it fast, and dark, and a heavy sense of expectation and growing annoyance hanging over them.

“You would do that for me?” He blurted out without meaning to. “Shit, I mean…” He couldn’t think fast enough to change his words and just petered out. Dee chewed on her lip for a moment before forcing a smile.

"Only rule is you’re not allowed to fall in love with me after.”

Charlie smirked. Dee reached over to help him off the table but he hopped off without taking her hand. “What are you doing here, anyway?” He asked. He felt kind of shaky and unsteady, like when he ran really fast or really far. Dee waved the papers.

“Oh. Dennis left some of the case briefs at home, I was dropping them off.” She tilted her head. “Actually, _you_ can drop them off, and then I don’t have to see his stupid face.”

“Smart.”

“I know. Take the top three, I’m dumping the rest on The Waitress' desk.” She said, and Charlie plucked them off. “Call me, alright? We can talk about...shit.”

Dee cleared her throat, embarrassed by this outburst of emotion. The lights were off in the conference room, and outside the sun had set hours ago, but in that instant, in Charlie's eyes, Dee stood out crystal clear.

He wished he was better at texting, he was bursting to tell Mac what had happened - _See? You’re not the only one with sex stories_ \- even as he walked down the hall to Frank’s office. It was like a balloon was inflating in his stomach, bigger, bigger, lifting him up into the sky.

He reached with his free hand to knock on the heavy mahogany door, but right before he did he saw the thinnest sliver of yellow light escaping from the room. Sitting behind his desk, Charlie saw the edge of Frank’s whithered face. He was talking to someone.

“...Ah, give the kid a break.” Frank said with a wave of his pudgy hand. “His mom was probably on crack or something.”

Dennis _tsked_ , and even though Charlie couldn’t see him he somehow knew he was shaking his head in rue. “That’s the problem with these people. From the get go, they don’t care about what their degenerate habits will do to their kids.”

“Nope.” Frank agreed.

“And then it’s up to the rest of society to take care of whatever illiterate dumbasses get churned out.” Dennis crossed in front of the crack in front of the door, so Charlie got an eyeful of the back of his suit. “He's not gonna give us the alibi, why are you keeping him around? Did the state give you a tax break for hiring him?”

“Nah, I just thought he was funny. Every trial needs a retard to alleviate tension.” Frank laughed. “That’d be great, though, wouldn’t it? A tax break for Charlie.”

Dennis laughed, said something else. but Charlie wasn’t listening anymore. His heart was really, really loud in his ears. His hands tingled and his feet, with a screech on the shiny hardwood, turned and ran away.

Down the stairs, his shoulder and elbow bumping against the wall, his face hot. A dirty lace came loose on his sneakers - his ugly, peeling, _stupid_ sneakers he got from Salvation Army when he was eighteen - and he tripped, down onto the landing. He threw his hands out to catch himself, but not in time to save his knees. Hot, burning pain exploded on his shins and legs. “Fuck!” He pulled his legs up against his chest. “Fuck.”

“Charlie?”

It was Dee, looking down at him from the doorway at the top of the staircase. “What the hell was that? Did you just fall down the fucking stairs?”

Shit. No. Not now. He lifted a hand in the air, stop. “Dee, can you- could you just fuck off, please?”

Dee frowned. “Screw you.” She started down the stairs, her bare feet slapping against each step. A single sheet of paper flapped in her hand. Charlie let his head drop against his knees. “Are you crying?”

“ _Please_ leave me alone.”

Dee sat down across from him, criss-cross applesauce, tucking the paper into her bra. “We don’t have to fuck if it's getting you this upset, you boner.”

Charlie whipped his head up. “Does everyone think I’m a joke?”

“What?”

“You all think you’re fancy shit. Oh, Charlie’s all dirty, Charlie’s so stupid, Charlie eats cat food and doesn’t know what a bar card is.”

“You eat cat food?”

“I’m a _person_. I have thoughts and feelings and shit, and I’m getting real sick of everyone acting like I’m retarded.”

“Did someone call you retarded? Is it 2007?” Charlie stood up, wiping his face on the sleeve of his shirt. “Whoa, hang on.” She scrambled to stand up, but Charlie already started down the rest of the stairs. “Charlie!”

“I can’t _read,_ Dee!” He snapped, whirling around. “I can’t do intern stuff, I can’t get The Waitress to love me, I can’t do anything! Everyone fucking knows it!” The world was getting fuzzy around him. He reached up and let his hands hang in the air above his head, palms flat in surrender. “Screw this. This whole thing was stupid, I’m done, I’m going home.”

He turned and half-ran, half-stumbled down the rest of the steps. He got all the way to the street, one foot off the sidewalk, before she caught up with him, grabbing his arm. Charlie pulled it away.

“I passed the bar.” Dee said, so loudly it echoed on the empty street.

From her sweater she yanked out a sheet of paper. A round metallic crest from the state glittered where it was pressed into the top of the sheet. “Dennis left his shit on the table and I-I think I picked up some of our mail by mistake.” Her eyes were bright, bordering on manic. “I did it. I passed the bar. I’m going to be a lawyer.”

Charlie tried to smile. A lump like a hot rock stuck in his throat when he tried to swallow. “Cool. Really good job, Dee.”

Her arm dropped, the gold stamp catching the light of the streetlight. “That’s it?”

Charlie shrugged and stepped off the sidewalk.


	12. Chapter 12

It was remarkable, how quickly life slid back into place.

Charlie didn’t live on campus, nor did he attend most of his classes; vanishing from UPenn was as simple as not showing up. He threw his all his tapes into the dumpster outside Mac’s club and got high, alone, in his apartment. In the quiet gray of early morning, when he knew no one else would be outside, he bummed around his neighborhood, running his fingers along the crooked brick walls of crumbling buildings. When he ran out of beer on Wednesday and ventured to the Wawa, he ran into Alan Kinnian and his wife.

“Did you get that AA yet?” Alan asked. Charlie didn’t even have it in him to enjoy the surprise on Alan face when he answered yes. They made an appointment to interview Charlie at Philly’s waste management office sometime next week.

He kicked his TV on it’s side after he turned it on to a news report about the Ponderosa trial starting.

Dee called. He ignored her. Mac called. Charlie only answered, finally, to tell him he was sick and he wasn’t going back to school.

_“Sick with what?”_

“...bird flu.” Charlie coughed feebly into the receiver.

 _“Bullshit.”_ Mac asked. _“What happened?”_

Charlie rolled onto his side, yanking the sheet off his futon to wrap around his shoulder. “I’m just done. It’s stupid, man.”

_“How can you be done? Dennis told me Bill Ponderosa was pissed that you weren’t at the trial today, he told Frank he only trusted Bennett Street and why didn’t they know where he was. That’s you, right?”_

Charlie pulled his knees up to his chest. It made the walls of his throat stick together, when Mac said stuff like that. “You saw Dennis?”

 _“I did more than see him.”_ Mac said proudly. “ _Dude, have you ever had shower sex? It’s-”_

“Okay, that's enough. Don’t talk to your boyfriend about me.”

 _“He’s not my boyfriend.”_ Mac huffed. _“And he’s the one who asked me about you, they’re really losing their shit over there.”_

“I don’t care. Look, you can still come over. We can get some beers, watch _Predator_ or _Top Gun._ Just no more lawyer stuff.”

_“I love Top Gun.”_

“Yeah, I bet you do.” There was a sharp rap at the front door of Charlie’s apartment. “I gotta go. Just- don’t let Dennis be a dick to you.” There was a loaded pause on the other end. “Shit, not like that.”

The knocking persisted. Charlie groaned, threw the phone on his threadbare carpet. “Calm down, I’m coming.” He heaved himself off the couch, shackles already rising. It was probably fucking Huang, up his ass about the rent again. In his mind, he rifled through what racist names were okay to say and which ones to just think.

But it wasn’t Huang waiting when he opened his door.

Brad Fischer stood in the hallway, his arms crossed tightly over his wool sweater; drawing into himself like he was afraid to touch the walls of Charlie’s apartment building.

“Did you know this building is technically owned by the HUD department?” He said, by way of greeting.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed and he leaned against his doorframe. “Yeah, well, Section 8 housing’ll do that.” Brad’s cheeks colored, but he didn’t make to move. Charlie turned round, but didn’t invite him in. “What do you want?”

“I think you made a mistake, quitting Frank’s like that.”

“I don’t really care what you think, _Brad_.”

Brad took a tentative step across the threshold. “You know, when we first started dating, she used to tell me all these stories about this weird guy she knew from growing up, who followed her around like a puppy, couldn’t take a hint, who she was pretty sure didn’t shower-”

“Oh my God! Does this have a point?”

“You’re better than what she said about you. You’re still fucking weird, don’t get me wrong. But this is about the law and being a good lawyer, and you have what it takes to be a good lawyer.”

“I’m not a lawyer.”

“You got Bill’s alibi! Frank Reynolds couldn’t do that!”

“He only gave it to me ‘cause he thinks I’m trash who’d appreciate the story.” Charlie reached behind his hot plate to a beer that wasn’t completely empty and finished it off; bitter and flat, but he swallowed anyway. “He’s a dick, just like the rest of you.”

“Deandra's the one who sent me. She told me what they said about you.” Brad said. Charlie let the beer bottle fall to the rug, rolling across the uneven floor.

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She knew you overheard Frank and Dennis talking, she connected the dots. She’s a smart girl.” Brad sucked in air through his teeth. “ _Retarded,_ that’s on the ACLU’s no-no list.”

“Hey, how bout you get the fuck out of my house?” Charlie laughed without mirth, baring his teeth like a jungle cat, but Brad, goddamn him, didn’t move.

“Don’t you want to prove them wrong? Barge in, save the case with the alibi?”

“I don’t give a shit about the case!”

“Let’s go find more evidence! You went to the house, what did you see? Charlie!” He stamped his foot, almost prissy, as Charlie sat down on his carpet, absently rolling an empty beer bottle that had tipped onto it’s side. “Come on!”

“Brad, The Waitress is right. She’s always right. I’m weird and dumb and I just thought I wasn’t, for awhile, okay?”

“ _Jesus Christ, Charlie. Tell me you’re not this much of a pussy.”_

For a second, Charlie thought he was hallucinating; sometimes he heard voices if he OD’d on glue. But Brad looked around, trying to locate the voice.

“Is someone else in here?”

 _“You didn’t hang up on me, bozo.”_ Mac hissed from the phone lying on the floor. _“And pretty boy’s right.”_

Brad leaned in. “I’m sorry, what’s happening?”

 _“You’re the real shit, Charlie. You came barrelling down the street all inspiring and crap…”_ The air buzzed as Mac hesitated. _“I thought, ‘if this tiny dude who can’t read is gonna be a lawyer, then I can get my dick sucked by a guy so rich he can fill his gas tank up all the way.’”_

Charlie scratched his beard. “...Seriously?”

“ _Yeah bro, I saw him do it. And it's a Range Rover so you_ know _that thing has shitty MPG."_

Charlie's hand rose up to rub his temple. "No. Goddammn it. No. The other part."

_"Oh, right. But if you’re gonna be chickenshit, then I might go back to hitting on college girls.”_

“Who is this? Is he gay? Wait, are _you?”_ Brad spoke in a pathetic imitation of a stage whisper. “She told me she saw you at the Rainbow, is this your boyfriend?”

 _“They called you retarded, Charlie.”_ Mac’s voice spiked. _“Those rich sons of bitches think they can call you retarded and then win at law while you sit in your shitty apartment? And you're just gonna let them?”_

Charlie clapped his hands over his ears, his heart pounding. “Shut up, shut up. I don’t know which question to answer first.”

 _“This one.”_ Mac said. _“Do you need a ride to the Ponderosa house?”_

Charlie sucked in a gulp of air, closed his eyes and nodded.

“He’s saying yes.” Brad narrated, cautiously hopeful. 

_“Okay, and can one of you also pay for gas?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many Flowers for Algernon references can I force into one story? The limit does not exist!


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn’t yet dusk when Mac’s car sputtered to a stop on Willard Street, but every living room in the neighborhood was lit up; everyone sat glued to the recap of the day’s trial, leaving the street deserted.  
  
“Spooky.” Mac said. Directly behind him, Brian started to whine.  
  
“I’m _bored!”_ He wailed, swinging his arm at Brad’s face.  
  
“Dude. Why did you bring Dennis’ baby.” Charlie asked, too exasperated to even inflect the words into a question.  
  
“He’s not a baby. He’s three.” Mac hissed, his shoulders rising in defense. “He can talk and everything.”  
  
“You sleep with this asshole twice and now you’re his nanny?”  
  
“It was an emergency, he had to go back to the office, dickweed!” Mac reached his arm behind him and, without looking, patted Brian’s swinging leg until he stilled.  
  
“Can we please focus on our jobs for ten seconds?” Brad whispered harshly, unbuckling his seatbelt. “We need to go inside.”  
  
“I didn’t go inside last time. I don't have keys.” Charlie said.  
  
“I can break a window.” Mac offered as he pulled Brian out of his car seat. Brad glared.  
  
“That’s tampering with a crime scene. It’s punishable by-”  
  
“Up to five years. Or a fee of 5G.” Charlie finished. Mac and Brad both glared at him. “Sorry, I knew that one.”  
  
“Okay, if you want to do this like a baby, I think I have a trick.” Mac said. “Do you have a credit card, rich boy?”  
  
“Oh shit! That’s a good one.” Charlie nodded and held out his hand to Brad, who looked back and forth between them with wary eyes.  
  
“Are you going to...buy a hammer or something?”  
  
Charlie reached over, digging into Brad’s coat until he got a hold of his wallet. Brad lifted both his hands in a touchdown signal.  
  
“Whoa.”  
  
Charlie drew back and waved Brad’s blue plastic American Express in his face. “Slide it down the door frame, and then when you bend it backwards against the lock it’ll force it open.”  
  
“This isn’t a movie, Charlie.” Brad sighed.  
  
“They do this in movies?” Charlie tromped up the front steps of the house, ducking under the caution tape. “I used to break into the convenience store by my mom’s house with this.”  
  
He tried once, and then Mac did. On Charlie’s second try, it worked.  
  
“Check it out Brian.” Mac said as they stepped through the swinging door. “That’s how we do it in South Philly.”  
  
The four of them spread out throughout the house. Mac walked out to the patio when Brian started fussing, setting him on the ground and teaching him karate moves, which Brian imitated with a tremendous amount of energy and vigor.

Charlie wandered through the living room, looking at photos of the Ponderosas in happier times. Someone had scratched Bill’s eyes out in most of them.  
  
He heard Brad clattering up the stairs, but found himself drifting out towards the patio and the trees. His arms and legs felt so heavy and sore, but he pulled himself up into the branches anyway, with much more balance than the last time, having use of both arms. The smell of earth and leaves soothed his dulled, frayed nerves. A gray, sharp beaked hawk squawked and took off as he passed it.  
  
“Are you pissed at me for banging Dennis?” Mac called up. Charlie settled onto the branch, letting his head drop against the trunk. Below him, Brian let out little gasps in the cold as he ran around the crime scene.  
  
“He’s a douche.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. But the sex is _so_ good, Charlie. And he got us pizza before and that's kind of a date, right? And Brian’s awesome when he isn’t screaming or if I give him Valium.”  
  
“He’s an douche.” Charlie repeated, rubbing his head  against the trunk. The bark scratched his scalp in a way that was really nice. “But you’re kind of a douche too.” Mac looked at him uncertainly. Charlie tried to smile. “You’re perfect for each other.”  
  
“Charlie, did you open this window?” Brad shouted down.  
  
“What window?” Charlie followed the noise, but even before he looked up he knew what Brad was referring too.  
  
“This window right here? I think it’s busted, there isn’t a screen in here.” He stuck his hand out the window.  
  
It disrupted the delicate calm of an ecosystem at night. Another gray bird - Charlie recognized the species now, sharp-shinned hawk - squawked and bolted off the branch, it’s wing brushing against his arm. It shot down towards the patio, where Mac swore and swerved away from it.  
  
Charlie let his hands drop from the branches above his head and almost lost his balance on the branch, dropping backwards. “Brad, do sharp-shinned hawks often live in oak trees?”  
  
Brad chuckled, in his throat. “Charlie, why would I know that?”  
  
“We have to go.” Charlie dropped down through the branches, his legs getting scraped up through the holes in his jeans. “Shit, go go go go.”

* * *

Typical Dee, now that he needed to talk to her, she was the one not answering her phone.

After the third time he was sent to voicemail, he whipped his phone at the dashboard of Mac’s car. It bounced off the windshield, making it vibrate. In his lap, Brian started flailing again, agitated by the speed in which they careened out of the Ponderosa’s neighborhood.  
  
“Charlie,” Brad piped up, tentatively from the backseat. “Do you maybe want to let someone who isn’t having some kind of manic episode hold Brian?”  
  
“Brian doesn’t like you.” Charlie said, patting the top of Brian’s head absentmindedly. “Come on, we gotta go to court, like, right now.”  
  
“It’s night, we adjourned for the day. No one is there.”  
  
“Okay, then we’ll wait outside.”  
  
“Tell me what the hell is going on.”  
  
So Charlie told him.

Brad looked over his head at Mac. For a second neither of them said anything. Brad reached over the divider and took Brian out of Charlie’s arms, ignoring the toddler’s protests as they settled back in the backseat.  
  
“Charlie-” And there was that sickly, pitting voice again. Charlie leaned back and kicked the dashboard with both feet.  
  
“I’m not crazy!” He burst out, indignant. “Stop looking at each other like that!”  
  
Brad swallowed and wrapped his arms more tightly around Brian’s pudgy stomach. Mac fixed his eyes on the road.  
  
“Brad, give me your tie.”  
  
“What? No!”  
  
“I’m not gonna look respectable in this.” Charlie gestured to his torn up jeans and his jacket from the army surplus store.  
  
“Give him your tie, bozo.” Mac urged. Charlie twisted around and went for Brad’s neck.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
“Calm down, I’m just borrowing it.”  
  
“I’m just gonna call Dennis, though.” Mac announced from the driver’s seat.  
  
But Dennis didn’t answer Mac’s calls for hours. The four of them spent the night in Mac’s car, parked outside the courthouse.

Brian fell asleep in the backseat, sucking his thumb. Charlie pressed his forehead hard against the window, mumbling to himself. A statement, an explanation. Brad kept rocking back and forth, texting The Waitress and intermittently groaning “I’m going to be so fucking fired.”  
  
Dennis arrived after dawn, the same time reporters pulled up in vans and the janitors started unlocking the courthouse. He ran out of his Range Rover without even putting it in park - Frank on his heels, Artemis by his side.  
  
And behind them, jerking the car to a stop before it rolled into a building, was Dee.  
  
Charlie’s heart stuttered. Even before Dennis started banging on the window of Mac’s car with his fist. Dee turned away.  
  
“Twice you have brought my son to a crime scene! Twice!” Dennis never looked calm, exactly, but in the moment his face was particularly scary. Charlie expected his eyes to go start glowing red with rage.

Brad opened the back door and held Brian out, as a shield and a bargaining chip. Brian sleepily reached for his father. Dennis gathered him up in his arms, almost shaking.  
  
“First you punch me and then you let Brian wander around a murder house?" He snapped at Mac. "Are you people trained killers?”  
  
“Dennis-” Mac called after him, but Dennis picked Brian up and walked out of the parking lot, towards the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. “C’mon, he’s gonna have awesome stories to tell in preschool!” Mac left the driver’s side door open and chased after them.  
  
“Where the hell you been, Charlie?” Frank asked. Charlie fiddled with the seatbelt he had never put on. In his peripherals, he could see Mac and Dennis arguing over Brian’s head. He didn’t see Dee, but he could feel her, standing nearby, staring at him.  
  
“Working on a theory, it’s gonna blow this case wide open.”  
  
Frank laughed. Artemis tapped stood on her tip-toes and gestured past both of them  
  
“They’re letting everyone in. And Charlie, y’all should close your car doors, don’t you know how many ne'er do wells hang around here?”  
  
Charlie walked fast towards the courthouse, ignoring the various murmurs of confusion coming from behind him. Brad followed; so did Frank, Artemis, and even Dee.  
  
Against the brick wall next to the door, Mac and Dennis had started kissing, frantic and sloppy, Mac’s hands tugging at Dennis’ curls; Brian still on Dennis' hip. Charlie smacked the wall next to their heads as he walked by and they sprang apart.  
  
“Jesus Goddamn Christ, you two. There are kids here.”

* * *

Bill was waiting at the defense table, the bailiff cuffing his wrists to the underside of the mahogany table. His face brightened when he caught sight of Charlie.  
  
“Hey! Bennett Street! Finally, I thought you quit on me.”  
  
“Don’t call me that, man.” Charlie peeled off his army jacket and straightened the tie he fought off of Brad. “Hey, I got a plan.”  
  
“That rhymed.” Bill chuckled. Charlie noticed Bill’s eyes, darting and caught under a layer of film.  
  
“Dude, are you on something right now?” He whispered. Bill looked in both directions and then nodded, jittery.  
  
“Lemme tell you, it’s harder to get, but the coke in prison is like, next level.”  
  
“Oh my God.” Charlie turned away, overwhelmed. Brad and Frank were setting up next to him, shooting him wary and confused stares, respectively. “Unbelievable.”  
  
“Never mind, what’s your plan?”  
  
“What plan? Charlie’s not a lawyer, Pondy.” Frank said. Bill frowned.  
  
“That’s right, I’m just a _retard_. Right Frank?” Charlie said, forcing his tone to be lofty, glib. Brad flinched. Frank blinked, uncomprehending. The fucker didn’t even remember what he said.  
  
“Are we still allowed to say that?” Bill said. “I thought it was like n-”  
  
“That’s disgusting.” The Waitress had arrived at some point, standing with Dee and Artemis, sorting through papers behind the defense table. Her presence startled; She had never snuck up on Charlie, before. “...maybe accurate, but-”  
  
“Hey, hey, all this shit talking Bennett Street, knock it off. I want him to do the talking.” Bill announced. The entire legal team fell silent.  
  
“What did I just tell you? He’s not a lawyer, he can’t argue your case.”  
  
“He can if a licensed attorney supervises him.” Brad blurted out, clearly unable to help himself. Frank snorted.  
  
“Yeah, and I’m not doing that.”  
  
“I will.” said Dee. Another pause seized the group. Civilians had started filling in, Emily and Bobby, the defense lawyer, an unsmiling man with a sharp, angular face; even Mac, who ducked, blushing, into the back row.  
  
“Deandra, what the hell you talking about?” Frank asked.  
  
Dee pushed through the gate and planted her hands on her hips. “I’m a lawyer, bitch. Got sworn in yesterday. There was a Bible and everything.”  
  
She looked up at Charlie. Charlie’s face felt hot. His whole body did. Dee, clearly uncomfortable too, scrunched up her face and swallowed hard, fighting down a dry-heave. “Me and Charlie are gonna kick this trial in the dick, Frank, whether you want us to or not.”  
  
Frank looked from Charlie to Bill to his daughter. “Is everyone here on speed?”  
  
Bill opened his mouth. Charlie punched him under his ribcage.  
  
“Ah, screw it. Trials are a pain in the ass anyway. Enjoy prison, Pondy.” He reached out for Artemis’ arm and the two glided back down the aisle, leaving all their papers behind. Brad lost all color in his face.  
  
“Are we still getting course credit for this?” he called, to no answer. The bailiff cleared her throat and adjusted her belt.  
  
“Please turn off your cell phones and rise for the Honorable Judge Georgia Gherkin. Court is now in session in the case of The State of Pennsylvania verses William Ponderosa.”  
  
Charlie only continued to stand because if he tried to move, his legs might give out underneath him.  
  
As soon as Judge Gherkin came in, The Waitress sat down hard on the bench, clutching all of Artemis’ papers in her lap. “This is going to be a shitshow.”  
  
“Yeah?” said Dee. Her face already shone with sweat.  
  
“Mmm-hmm.”  
  
“Okay. Okay.” Dee lifted her arms and waved them back and forth to air out her pits. “I’m going to tell the judge what’s going down. Charlie, come on.”  
  
“I can’t feel my legs.” He said. Dee, not quite making eye contact, grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him forward.  
  
“Tell me you know what you’re doing.” She murmured in his ear. He tried not to shiver.  
  
“I’m like 70-35.”

"That's- okay." Dee nodded. Her arm twitched, her hand brushed against Charlie's. They both took a deep breath.  
  
Dennis slipped in the back, next to Mac, absently waving Brian’s Barbie in front of his face to stop his whining. “What’d I miss?"  
  
“Bill fired your dad, now Charlie’s representing him.” Mac said. “Huge bombshell.”  
  
“Frank’s not his lawyer anymore?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Am I still his lawyer?”  
  
“I think your sister is.”  
  
“ _What?”_

* * *

Charlie smoothed the tie down over his jacket and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to lose it. Dee could throw up at any goddamn second; someone had to hold it together.  
  
“Ladies and gentleman of the jury. Judge Jerkin.”  
  
“Gherkin.” Brad murmured.  
  
“Gherkin Jerkin. Lady who types super fast. My name is Charles Kelly and I would like to begin today with a simple request. To call Bobby and Emily Ponderosa to the stand!”  
  
A murmur rose from the gallery and the judge rapped her gavel for quiet.  
  
“Your Honor, we already questioned Mr. and Ms. Ponderosa yesterday,” said the defense lawyer. “These children shouldn’t have to go through the ordeal of their mother’s death again simply because Mr. Kelly didn’t feel like showing up.”  
  
“I’m inclined to agree.” Judge Gherkin said.  
  
“Come on, Your Honor. It’ll take like, five minutes.”  
  
“Oh, _like_ , will it?” The defense lawyer said, mocking. Charlie raised his eyebrows.  
  
“You wanna go, right now? ‘Cause if you’re gonna give me sass we can _go_.”  
  
Another gavel rap. “Gentleman. Decorum in my courtroom.”  
  
“Apologies, Your Excellency.” Charlie said. “I implore you to let me ask Emily and Bobby just a few questions.”  
  
Judge Gherkin squinted down at him for an eternity of three seconds. “Make it quick, Mr. Kelly.”  
  
Charlie clapped his hands together. “Come on, get the kids up here, come on, come on.”  
  
Emily and Bobby were slender enough to fit in the witness box side-by-side. Emily looked down and played with the ends of her flame-colored hair. Charlie didn’t address them, though; instead he turned to the jury.  
  
“In the Ponderosa household, there is a window on the second floor. It’s about the size of a three-year-old boy. It’s a pretty sucky window for seeing things out of - there's this giant oak tree that's growing against the house. It blocks any direct view out. Looking out the window, all you can see is trees, or if you turn right, you see the patio.”  
  
“We would like to direct the jury’s attention to -” The Waitress leaned forward and Dee rumaged through the stack of papers she clutched, stammering as she searched. “-exhibit D and exhibit E, the blueprints for the mansion and the pictures we took after Jane died.” She exhaled noticeably at the end of her sentence; got through it with nary a wave of nausea.  
  
Brad, relishing his role, handed the exhibits to the bailiff, who passed them out among the jurors.  
  
“Excuse me, how long do we have to sit here?” Emily asked. Judge Gherkin nodded.  
  
“Mr. Kelly, if you’re going to examine the witnesses, do it promptly.”  
  
“Of course, of course. Now, Ponderosas, you say that you were in your basement when your mother was killed, and when you came upstairs she was already dead.”  
  
“Yeah. Bill had beat her with a rock or something.” Bobby said, sullenly.  
  
“Motion to strike that from the record, speculation.” Dee blurted out.  
  
“Motion granted. Robert, please just try to answer the questions as concisely as possible.” Judge Gherkin said. Dee pumped her fist in victory.  
  
“Now, we all know no weapon was found at the scene of Jane Ponderosa’s death.” Charlie continued. “But perhaps this is because the weapon...didn’t know it was a weapon at all.”  
  
“Okay, he’s gone.” Dennis murmured. Mac elbowed him in the stomach.  
  
“The defense would like to enter into evidence exhibits T though U - photos of the patio crime scene, in which you can clearly see the oak tree next to the open window, home to over ten species of birds. Medium-sized birds love trees like this. Oaks are hollow under the upper branches, leaving plenty of room to nest or throw bird soirees - the latter is just speculation, of course, I don’t presume to know what birds do to entertain guests.”  
  
“Your Honor, this is not a biology class.” The defense lawyer said.  
  
“Birds are _ornithology_.” Charlie said. “Now, if a person was to stick their an appendage through the window, any one of these birds - a chickadee, the American robin, even the sharp-shinned hawk - would understandably become startled by the human intrusion, and take off.”  
  
“Mr. Kelly, if you’re going somewhere with this, you better get there fast.” Judge Gherkin warned.  
  
“Ponderosas, your mother and father were going through a divorce, yes?”  
  
Emily and Bobby nodded.  
  
“Your father’s family was the one with money. He was the one with the hungry lawyers, the resources. He was going to take Jane Ponderosa for everything she - and by extension, you - had.”  
  
“He’s a piece of shit.” Emily said. “It’s not a secret.”  
  
“Be that as it may, negotiations were not going Jane’s way; Bill was winning.”

“Objection, editorializing.” The defense lawyer said.  
  
“Strucken.” Charlie said. “Stricken? Stricken or strucken?”  
  
“It's _withdrawn_.” Brad said.  
  
“You and your brother knew Bill already had two strikes for drug abuse. You knew that if he was accused and convicted of attacking his ex-wife he would be locked up for the remainder of his life, he would lose everything and all his money would fall to the two of you.” Charlie turned back to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, the sharp-shinned hawk is incredibly common in Pennsylvania. There are two pictured in exhibit T alone. It’s also what’s known as a pursuit hawk. They can reach speeds of sixty miles an hour in less than four feet. That’s like a car on a highway. And if a car hit you at that speed…” He faded off, turned back to the Ponderosa children. “But you two already know what could happen if something that fast hit you in the head, don’t you?”  
  
“He’s a piece of shit!” Emily shrieked, standing up in the witness box.  
  
“He’s high all the time and he sleeps with any bitch who walks by.” Bobby added, glowering.  
  
“You two weren’t in the basement. You were upstairs, waving at the hawk through the screenless window.”  
  
“Objection!”  
  
“We didn’t know it was going to kill her!” Bobby shouted. “She told us that it would just hurt her and Bill would get blamed!”  
  
“ _Bobby_!” Emily smacked her brother in the face, but it was too late. The gallery erupted into chaos.  
  
“You deliberately agitated the sharp-shinned hawk, knowing it would take off at top speed and fly in the only direction it could - right down towards the patio.” Charlie finished, triumphantly. “And into Jane Ponderosa’s face.”  
  
“Holy shit.” Dee said.  
  
“Holy _shit_!” Bill gaped.  
  
_Holy_ _shit._ Charlie thought. Judge Gherkin called again and again for order. Bobby burst into tears and Emily punched him in the shoulder.  
  
“Bailiff, please take Emily and Robert Ponderosa into custody, where they will be tried in juvenile court for the second-degree murder of Jane Ponderosa. The case of _State of Pennsylvania v. William Ponderosa_ is being thrown out. Bill-” She sighed and glared down at him. “You got lucky.”  
  
“Yes ma’am.” He said, grinning and sniffing, as he was uncuffed.  
  
The world rushed around Charlie. People shouting, running up to him, a few people taking photos even though they had been ordered to turn off their phones. Bill slapped him on the shoulder and turned away to take another covert sniff of coke out of his jumpsuit. Mac almost tackled Dennis in the back row, and Dennis held Brian high in the air, out of harm’s way, just in time. Brad and the Waitress grabbed each other’s arms and shook their heads, stunned.  
  
And there was Dee.

Walking towards him, almost six feet tall in heels, her shirt untucked and drooping out the side of her skirt, her eyes bright, almost shiny.  
  
“We made the law our bitch!” She exclaimed. Charlie pressed up against her chest and kissed her.  
  
And he grabbed his arms tight around her waist and he kissed her, and she slid her hands into the back pockets of his jeans and she kissed him, and everything slowed down and his stomach didn’t hurt. It lifted, light and fizzy.

He chuckled, in the back of his throat, and pulled back, resting his forehead against her’s.  
  
“Thanks, Dee.” he said.

"Anytime." 

"No, I mean, like, thanks for everything. For all of it."

Dee swallowed, but not like she was about to throw up. More like she was about to let out a cry. "Anytime."

“Charlie!” Someone tapped his shoulder hard. It was Brad, grinning ear to ear. “Give me back my tie?”  
  
“Sure. It’s lucky now, so you probably shouldn’t wash it.” Charlie pulled the loop over his head and handed it back. Dee leaned to the side, so she could rest her head on his shoulder.  
  
Brad stuffed the tie in his pocket. “Sure. Hey, Mary and I are going to go get drinks and celebrate, you want to come?”  
  
“Sure, sure, man.” Charlie frowned. “Wait, who’s Mary?”  
  
The Waitress’ eyes went black. “That’s my _name_ , you jackass!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me and I refuse to apologize.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Seven Months Later_ **

“Goddammit, Charlie! Don’t put the cardboard thingy back in the fridge if you finish the last beer!” Dee shouted, slamming the fridge door shut so hard the ice in the freezer rattled. “I’ve told you like seven times!”

“You can’t count.” Charlie said, swinging into the kitchen from the living room, gripping the side of the doorway like he was spinning around a lamppost.

Dee clocked his flushed face, the giggle at the end of his every word. Charlie leaned in, reproachful. “I’m not that drunk, I still remember the stupid estate law paper I have to finish. School sucks _balls._ ”

“Well maybe you wouldn’t have to take summer classes if you didn’t skip half the fall semester.”

“I had other shit going on, Deandra.” He said, very gravely, and she smirked, glancing at the clock.

“Y’know, Dennis took Brian to the park.” She said, holding out her palm and interlacing their fingers when Charlie pressed his hand back against hers.

“Yeah, Mac’s meeting them there. He told me they're gonna drink wine coolers and let Brian smash the empties.”

Dee’s forehead wrinkled. “Dennis couldn’t shell out twenty bucks for a baseball?”

“That’s how much you think baseballs cost?” Dee let go of his hand and swatted his ear. “It’s more fun when they shatter, trust me.”

Charlie looked at her, steadily, warm-eyed, for one moment, two, and leaned forward (and up, okay? Sometimes a man has to push onto his toes to reach his girlfriend, was that a crime?) to kiss her, hard and messy. Dee lost her footing, stumbling back into the kitchen.

“Ope. Hello.” She laughed. Charlie dropped back down onto flat feet.

“Shit.” He grinned. “Let’s do it.”

“What? Oh _it.”_ Dee’s eyes lit up, and even tipsy, Charlie could tell she wasn’t even trying to hide her excitement.

He guessed he couldn’t blame her; if sex was really good as everyone was always saying, Dee had been a goddamn trooper for giving it up this long.

They made out a lot, messy and giggly, in stolen corners of the UPenn campus, in varying states of undress around the twins' apartment, in Dennis' Range Rover - an unfortunate incident where Frank caught them and announced they were "dry humping like dogs".

There were bumps. Charlie didn’t freak out every time, but sometimes he did. Dee stopped speaking to him for a weekend after he slapped her in the face when she got her hands on his neck too tight, and another time he called her a bitch when he heard her complaining to Dennis one evening about how bad she needed to get laid. Most of the time, though, it was nice. It was _good._

They fell asleep together almost every night. Dee dragged herself home from the firm after midnight to find Charlie dozing on top of her covers, his tapes and papers scattered all around him.

He liked sleeping next to Dee, watching her breath, smelling her hair. He liked how quiet and clear the world was on Sunday mornings, watching Dee scroll through Instagram while he traced patterns on her arms.

And now, on a Friday afternoon in June, with his t-shirt sticking to his skin with the slight sheen of sweat from booze, he thought it might be  _really_ good.

Dee stepped into him and slid her hands up in between his shoulder blades. “I think Dennis’ has some candles, I can put my nice sheets on my bed.” She hummed, kissing the side of his neck. “I think the maid did the laundry this morning.”

“Or we could just do sex right here.” Charlie blurted out. He could feel himself getting hard as Dee’s thighs rubbed against his own, but it didn't embarrass him as much as it used to. Mostly he just wanted to _do something about it._

Dee pulled her head back. “You want to lose your virginity on my kitchen floor?”

“Yeah, that works.”

“So goddamn weird.” Dee said, but he could feel her smiling against his mouth, and they both dropped to their knees.

Some crumbs from under the fridge swept up in the ends of Dee’s hair as he laid her down on the tile, but she didn't seem to notice. She was focused on Charlie’s jeans. They were so old and stretched out she hardly needed to unbutton them before she could bunch them down off his feet and into a puddle on the floor. His bare legs from his boxers down felt exposed, a tingle of cold brushing against them.

He was distracted soon enough, though, by Dee undoing the buttons of her shirt - sometimes she let Charlie take her shirt off, but he couldn’t always get his thumbs to cooperate and it took awhile. Dee clearly didn’t have patience on her side today.

She sat up and kissed him while she undid her bra and threw it to the side, where it caught on one of the cabinet knobs. Charlie swallowed, but his throat felt dry as his mouth. He ran his hands up her sides and cupped her bare breasts, the way he’d learned she liked. Dee inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering. Charlie rubbed her nipples with his thumbs, and she stuck her knee in between his legs.

He squeezed his own thighs around her knee and started rubbing his half-hard cock against her leg without thinking. His cheeks flamed and he paused, tried to stop acting like a fucking dog. Dee pressed a hand flat against his chest.

“Stop blushing, it’s okay.” She commanded, lying back down. “It’s hot.”

She removed her leg just a few moments later, though, to peel off her jeans. Charlie let go of her breasts and braced his hands on her knees as they settled, splayed apart and ducked his head to mouth her cunt through her panties.

“ _Goddammit.”_ Charlie had never heard that word come out of Dee’s mouth like that before, all breathy, almost reverent. “Right to the good part. Never let society change you, Charlie.” Her thighs pressed in on both his ears and he flinched, a bolt of panic shooting through him.

“Shit, _shit_ , don’t trap my head like that.” He said, slightly muffled.

“Fuck, sorry.” Dee opened her legs again and Charlie’s heartbeat slowed; it was still fast, but excited, aroused fast. The good fast.

He reached down and pushed her panties to the side and licked a long, hot tongue stroke down her clit. Dee grabbed a fistfuls of his hair with both hands; it stung, but the stinging somehow sent a signal straight down to his dick, getting him even harder.

“Do the alphabet, do words with your tongue.” Dee gasped, pushing her loose hair back, out of her eyes. Charlie lifted his head and gave her a look. It took Dee a moment in her haze to understand. She started laughing, lying back on the ground. “Fine, do shapes or something.”

Charlie obliged. His hard-on almost hurt, tenting his underwear, but he didn’t mind waiting, going down on Dee while her big, warm hands threaded through his hair. Every few seconds she inhaled or murmured a curse word under her breath.

It didn’t take long for her to come, her legs trembling and falling flat on either side of Charlie. She loosened her grip on his head and rubbed her clit through the last wave of her orgasm. Charlie wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and sat back on his heels while Dee caught her breath.

“I think you might have a natural gift.”

“I do watch porn, Dee.” Charlie said indignantly. “It’s, like rude to girls to not to.”

Dee pushed herself up on her elbows and nodded to his crotch. “Let’s say we take care of that?”

Charlie scratched his beard. Then the back of his neck. Then he nodded, nodded, nodded-

“Jesus Christ Charlie, you look like a bobblehead.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whew.” He slapped his hands together. “Let’s go. Having sex.”

He crawled over Dee, propping himself up on his forearms - even though, if he was being honest with himself, he probably didn’t weigh enough to really hurt her - and closed his eyes as Dee lifted her legs and pulled Charlie’s boxers down with her toes. He chuckled, but it quivered in a way that made him want to punch his own face.

“Charlie.” He opened his eyes.

Dee lay her hand gently on his cheek. Charlie could see her black nail polish in his peripherals, the color she got into a screaming fight with Dennis about being appropriate for work. Her blonde hair splayed out around her like the lines of a sun coming out from her head.

And she smiled up at him. “Breathe.”

And something settled inside him. Dee and he were here, together. “Okay.”

It got a little fumbly, after that. He knew they should probably use a condom, but Dee said she was taking her pills or something, and he was too wired, too stimulated to really care. He thought it might hurt her, getting fucked, and if it didn’t, did that mean his dick was too small and sucked?

But Dee didn’t wince or look disappointed when he pushed into her. She just gripped his shoulders again - not too tight - and smirked. “Check who's not a virgin anymore.” She said.

Charlie blinked. “I don’t have to check. I can feel it, I’m inside you.”

Dee rolled her eyes.

For a minute, ninety seconds, Charlie thrust into her, Dee’s hips rising up to meet him each time. He could feel the world tightening around him, he knew he was blushing again but this time he didn’t care.

“God, you’re so hot right now.” Dee said, against his jaw. “I wish you could see your face, all red and turned on and shit.”

Charlie shuddered and came, his elbows slipping, and fell against Dee’s chest, smelling her sweet hair and something like kitchen cleaner, and Dee’s arms were around him, his skin hot to the touch of her cool fingers.

“Christ.” He said, letting his forehead, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, press against the side of her neck. She drummed her fingers against his back.

“Did I blow your mind?”

“Well, if you wanna blow something....” Dee’s hand stopped drumming and whacked him lightly. “Joking!” Charlie yawned, his bones feeling gelatinous and heavy. “Jeez, are you suddenly, like, super tired?”

“Oh, you’re one of those.” Dee rolled her eyes. “Come on, get up, we gotta get more beer.”

Charlie nodded, but he didn’t move. Dee’s hands settled back down, resting on the ridge of his spine. “In a minute.”

“Charlie, we’re not cuddling on my kitchen floor.”

“Fine. We’ll go to the carpet.” He hugged Dee around the waist, tighter than normal, and threw his weight, trying to roll them into the next room.

 _“Charlie!”_ Dee half-shrieked as her shoulder banged against the bottom of the dishwater. Charlie could tell she wasn’t really mad.

He was pretty smart about things like that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone for sticking through with this ridiculous premise until the end, shout out to beachdeath for making a joke i turned into a 30k of nonsense.


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